The Saga of Tanya the Alchemist
by Fizzy 13
Summary: Being X has a drink with the Truth and decides that a certain heathen salaryman is best reincarnated as an orphaned little girl... in the State of Amestris. Will Tanya Degurechaff succeed in her plan to live a comfortable life as a rear-echelon State Alchemist? Or will Being X's machinations bring her to the front lines and force her to pray?
1. Prologue: Deus X Machina

**AN** : The first thing that came to mind when I saw Youjo Senki was how, timeline-wise, it was pretty compatible with Amestris. Played around with the idea for a while, and decided to just give it a shot.

 **Disclaimer:** Youjo Senki is owned by... actually, I don't know who owns it. But it probably won't matter, because the Empire will take over and nationalize the company.

* * *

 **THE SAGA OF TANYA THE ALCHEMIST  
**

A Youjo Senki x Fullmetal Alchemist Crossover

By Fizzy 13

 **Prologue: Deus X Machina**

Being X took a sip from a glass of holy water, resting his elbow on the counter of a bar floating in the middle of some starry night void. "So what have you been up to lately?" he asked the featureless white entity sitting on the bar stool next to him. It had been a while since they last talked, what with the hard work of running a world with 7 billion people on it. Even gods needed a break every now and then.

"Oh, you know, this and that." The Truth shrugged as it drank from a featureless white glass that seemed to mimic the appearance of Being X's glass of holy water. "Last week, this pompous dwarf in a flask tried to eat me."

"… what?" Being X blinked. And here he thought his current problem was a headache.

"My world has some pretty interesting rules governing it, you know. Keeps things exciting." The Truth chuckled as it took another sip. "Of course, whether it's an artificial lifeform made by alchemy, or some naive kids who want their mommy back, nobody messes with the Truth and gets away with it."

"Hah, your confidence is as refreshing as ever, my friend." Being X sipped from his cup, empting it. At the waving of his hand, the barkeep walked over and refilled his glass.

"You don't sound too happy yourself," the Truth observed. After all, it was the Truth. It had to be honest. While there was nothing wrong with a little bit of understatement, it never went to the point of being excessive. "What's eating you?"

Being X sighed. "Well, I just ran into this unbeliever who got hit by a train."

"So?" The Truth shrugged. It didn't seem so serious. Last it checked, Being X's world had gotten pretty secular. "I mean, don't you just send those down to the bad place?"

"I don't _have_ a bad place," Being X explained, somewhat annoyed. "I mean, I'm not _that_ guy, you know. My world runs on a Law of Cycles."

The Truth snickered. "Madoka? Is that you? I'm sorry, I couldn't tell from the big white beard and all."

"Oh, ha-ha," Being X rolled his eyes, even more annoyed now. "I didn't mean _that_ particular Law of Cycles. I was talking about a Cycle of Reincarnation."

"Well duh, I knew that." The Truth brushed off the correction and bottoms-upped its glass. "Speaking which, I haven't seen that girl in a while, either. It's too bad. She's really sweet."

"Last I heard, she was busy attending to some personal business in her world." Being X sighed. How did this get so off-topic? "Anyway, back to my problem. Like I said, I ran into this unbeliever whose number had come up. But he had the gall to question me!"

"Hey, at least he didn't try to eat you."

"Why would an unbeliever try to eat something he doesn't believe in?" Obviously, this dwarf in a flask believed in the Truth, otherwise, it wouldn't have gone through the hard work of trying to eat It.

"Seems like I pay more attention to your own world than you do," The Truth said as it asked for the barkeep to fill up its glass. Briefly, as the holy water went into the glass, the featureless white being took the shape of an outline matching the barkeeper's appearance. "A lot of your unbelievers are pretty vocal about it, you know? They don't just unbelieve in your existence. They loathe the very idea of it, and spread this loathing to anyone who'll pay attention. In case you haven't noticed."

Being X waited in silence. He didn't need to be lectured about how unbelief was spreading across his world. "Are you finished?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"So I decided to perform an experiment on him."

"Yeah?"

"See, my pet theory is that humans lose faith in us when their scientific understanding and living standards increase. It's a testament to their arrogance." Being X stopped to take a sip from his glass. "The more they know about the workings of the universe, the more likely they are to think that they are the masters of it. For example, for thousands of years, only birds could fly. Then, starting a little over a hundred years ago, anyone with enough money could just buy a ticket and get on a machine that flies faster than any bird. Today, people don't think twice about flying, and how much time I spent planning out the evolution of wings."

"Aaand?"

"So, I decided to test this theory out. I will reincarnate him with his full memories, into a world of lesser creature comforts, of pain and suffering. And through his suffering, he will know me."

If the Truth had visible eyes, Being X would have seen it blink a few times in between giving him a blank stare. In this case, it was quite literally, a blank, faceless stare.

"What?"

"Honestly? I think your plan is dumb. He'll just hate you more. Humans tend to hold grudges, you know?" The Truth rolled the ice around in its glass before taking a sip. "I mean, why don't you just give him a clean start, and see if it happens?"

"Because, the point is to show that in a world with lesser creature comforts and lots of suffering, when they rely on us, then their faith will grow."

"So… you want to put an atheist in a foxhole." The Truth began to shake its head.

"There are no atheists in foxholes," Being X waved his finger as he took another sip.

The Truth sighed. "Well, where exactly are you going to put him? Africa?"

"What? No, of course not!" Being X put a hand to his chin, rubbing his beard. "Actually, that's the problem. I don't know where this guy should go. I mean, I could probably make a new world just to teach him that lesson…"

"Sounds like a lot of hard work," The Truth said. "Aren't you already overworked from managing your Cycle of Reincarnation?"

"Uh…"

"Tell you what," the Truth held its hands in an open palm gesture. "Why don't you put him in my world? It might look pretty stable, but there's a lot of instabilities going on in there, politically speaking. Push a few buttons in the right places, and you – that's right, I'm also letting you play around in there – could very well cause a world war."

"What's the catch?" Being X was familiar with the Truth. It operated the Law of Equivalent Exchange. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. That was how it governed its alchemic sciences. And it treated deities the same as mortals. "Equivalent Exchange, remember?"

"Right, well, I was thinking, maybe you could, I dunno, take over my job while you're running your experiment? Because after almost getting eaten by that dwarf, I think I need to take some time off."

"But who's going to run my world?" It was tiring enough to run one world, let alone two. So the implication, of course, was that Being X would devote himself entirely to running the Truth's world while the latter took its well-needed vacation.

"I dunno." The Truth shrugged. "Maybe you can let that extremely sarcastic high school kid who only ever goes by his nickname take charge of it. You know, the one who babysits their god?"

"You mean John Smith?"

"Yeah, I think that's another name they call him." The Truth finished its drink and held out a hand for a shake. "So, do we have an exchange, or what? I mean, you don't have to start now, if you don't want to. Go find someone else to run your world first."

Being X hummed as he mulled over this proposition. It was certainly less taxing than making a whole new world, and the worst he had to do in terms of preparation was read up on how the laws of alchemy worked. If anything, it was a complete no-brainer. Nodding to himself, the deity took the Truth's outstretched hand and firmly shook it. "It's a deal."

The Truth smiled. It was a gargantuan, cartoony grin, displaying a perfect row of teeth. Yet even without the rest of a face, or perhaps, because there was nothing but a mouth on its head, it would seem to some mortals as creepy or disturbing.

Being X didn't mind. He'd spoken to stranger people before. Cthulhu, for example.

"Excellent!" A featureless white outline of a fishing hat appeared on the top of the Truth's head, and it hopped off the stool, waving goodbye as it turned away to leave. "Well then, I guess I'll let you have fun with your experiment! Me, I'm off to have a different kind of fun! Cheers!"

Being X took the time to enjoy his drink. There was a lot of work to be done, but if he got things just right, he could have possibly been looking at a new believer…

* * *

AN: Yes, I threw in a few other references there. Because silliness, or something. No Tanya yet, but I figured I'd set a precedent before anything else.


	2. I: Sylphid Exposition

AN: Okay, Tanya action starts now… well… in a little bit. I'd appreciate

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Youjo Senki. It belongs to Being X. No seriously, Zen Carlo's Twitter account says 'sonzaix'. So it belongs to Being X. Amazing, eh?

* * *

 _In a cursed world scorched by endless bloodshed, one nation stood unmatched: The State of Amestris, whose vast army and advanced technologies allowed it to carve out a formidable empire over its four centuries of existence._

 _Their most powerful weapon, however, was not their battle hardened infantry, nor was it their emergent armored forces, which were decades ahead of their time. It was a small, elite college of highly trained specialists who harnessed the greatest of the material sciences, alchemy: the science of understanding the structure of matter, breaking it down, and reconstructing it as something else._

 _This tiny elite serving as Amestris' greatest asset represented the best alchemists that the State's citizenry had to offer, the top one percent. For every year, only one would be chosen out of over a hundred applicants. To those who would grace the alchemy exam with their talents and reach the top, they would receive the honor of being called_ _ **State Alchemists**_ _._

~O~O~O~

 **I. SYLPHID EXPOSITION  
**

My name is Tanya Degurechaff, and for the past nine years, my life has been troublesome. It wasn't always like this. I used to live a life of comfortable efficiency, running the HR department of a successful Japanese corporation. It wasn't a perfect life, but it was one that I could live with. It was a path dictated by common sense. If I didn't cause any trouble, I would be left alone. If I played my part well, I was rewarded by the executives. And if I played it well enough for a sufficient amount of time, I would have climbed my way to a nice corner office I could call my own.

But then, disaster struck. Or should I say, a mentally unstable ape who couldn't put common sense over the immediate gratification of his animal instincts' urge to retaliate against what was a logical action. It wasn't my fault he got fired. It was his pathetic performance and truancy, his own doing, which forced my hand and brought his state of unemployment down on him. That was entirely his responsibility.

And so, thinking more about satisfying his carnal desire for revenge, he pushed me into an oncoming train. That should have been the end of it, right? But no. To further complicate matters, I was accosted at the last second by some sort of advanced intelligence – with the gall to claim it was God, of course, never mind the fact that any being with the power to call itself God shouldn't even get tired. Otherwise, it wouldn't be omnipotent, right?

Of course, as an atheist, I wouldn't believe in anything that would qualify as God anyway, so that was a moot point. Somehow, my rational sensibilities offended this entity, henceforth to be referred to as 'Being X', and he made an, I would say, extremely hasty decision to try to forcibly convert me into worshipping him using most unpleasant means. His preferred method? Reincarnate me into a world plagued by war and suffering, where humans did not have the modern conveniences and technologies that I enjoyed in my previous life. His absurd logic seemed to be, "If you suffer enough, you'll ask for my help sooner or later".

Which is preposterous.

My pleas fell on deaf ears and I was reincarnated into this world, an orphan raised by social workers running a small welfare operation in what I soon found out was Amestris' 'East City'. And as if to add insult to fatal injury, I was reborn in the body of a girl. Oh, I didn't mention? I wasn't a girl before. But that's neither here nor there.

This world was similar to my old one in some ways, different in others. For example, the people living here were human. Ethnically speaking, it was a mixed bag, a result of Amestris' obsession with conquest and assimilation, like a modern Roman Empire. But everyone was human. Another similarity was the use of the Common Era calendar, which gave me a handy way of comparing this world's technological advancement to my past life. It was about the same as an advanced nation fresh out of the 1910s.

Now for the differences… I always found it odd that they expanded in all directions and specifically aimed for a circular shape, rather than adhering to sensible terrain boundaries, like mountains or rivers. Though looking at a world map, this appeared to be an idiosyncrasy unique to Amestris itself.

Prosthetic technology was also extremely advanced, to the point of exceeding modern Earth's prosthetic technology. Robotic limbs that could be connected to the nerves and functioned just like a brand new replacement. They call this Automail.

The most important difference, however, was how alchemy was a legitimate science that legitimately functioned, rather than some fuddy duddy pseudoscience that was eventually supplanted by modern chemistry.

Reams of research and data existed concerning this seemingly magical scientific field. The most interesting thing about alchemy, however, was the military's State Alchemist program. Once a year, it would hold an exam to test over a hundred applicants. The top ranked examinee would be inducted into the ranks of the State Alchemists, and be given a lot of enticing perks, such as a hefty research grant that they could use to pursue whatever field of alchemic research they desired, access to the government's restricted alchemy archives, and the rank and authority of a Major in the Army.

There were, of course, terms of service, but these, I only considered reasonable policies that I could follow.

Obey the military. Common sense. It was a military program, and I was going to be a military officer after all.

Do not create gold. This was a sound law for a world that still ran on the gold standard. It was to avoid destroying the economy with inflation.

Do not perform human transmutation. While most people would assume it was due to the moral and ethical implications of 'violating the sanctity of human life', it would be silly that a government that frequently participated in bloodbaths would put up such a law. No, to me, it was clear as day. It was to maintain the status quo, to keep the Amestrian government in power.

Human transmutation was prohibited to make sure that nobody could create a personal army of homunculi and challenge the government for power. And for people like State Alchemists, who had access to the State's most highly restricted research, this was a far more likely scenario than for anyone else who would just stumble around in the dark with their human transmutation experiments.

And so, not long after learning to read the local language – which for all intents and purposes seemed to be English, another similarity – and familiarizing myself with the most important factors of this world, I came to the conclusion that I would steer my new life in the direction where I could find the best comfort: as a State Alchemist in the rear, performing vital research that would benefit the Amestrian government, while making sure that my abilities would not be suitable for frontline deployment.

I spent six years self-studying as much alchemy as I could, while keeping myself abreast of current events, to figure out in what field of alchemy I could specialize in. By the time I was nine years old, I had become extremely proficient at a form of alchemy that I believed to be most technically relevant to Amestris' interests.

I was ready to put my plan into action.

And so with my wits about me, and my hard earned alchemic knowledge, I bid the social workers goodbye - along with the other brats in that hell hole of an orphanage - and got on the first train to Central City, where I would do my damned hardest to make sure that I would become this year's State Alchemist.

The official records say the youngest person to ever top the State Alchemist examination was a 13-year-old boy from a small sheep farming town in the southeast sector called Resembool. He'd come out of nowhere, and astounded the brass with his youthful talent. He then went on some grand adventure spanning several years, until eventually marrying his childhood sweetheart a little while back. What a stereotypical fairy tale story.

His name? Edward Elric. His designated title? Fullmetal Alchemist. Sounds like a title you'd give to a shonen anime, honestly.

Well, Edward Elric, step aside. Because I'm going to beat your record and become the youngest State Alchemist ever. Unlike your high flying action packed life of adventure, though, I'm going to spend the rest of my days in a nice, comfy laboratory, reading up on ways I can improve the military while getting rewarded for it.

~O~O~O~

 _INTERLUDE: FORT BRIGGS, 5 APRIL 1918_

Spring might have been in full swing in other parts of the nation of Amestris, but regardless of how good the weather was further south, the Briggs Mountain Range maintained its gaunt, snowy atmosphere. The only difference between this day and the winter of a few months ago was the mostly clear skies and a lack of blizzards to buffet the garrison here. The floors were still slippery with sheet ice, the icicles were still dangerous to the unwary, and the frozen nights still clocked in at well below zero.

The only consolation was that this particular front had been pretty quiet after that one incident a few years ago when the Drachmans foolishly attempted to attack the base. Just because one of their spies had leaked information that General Armstrong wasn't present at the time. Even with some incompetent pencil pusher from Central having been placed in command while General Armstrong was away, Briggs' forces proved that they would excel, even when their rightful commander wasn't watching.

One Lieutenant Cooper, who manned Lookout Station D, had been sitting comfortably in his chair, listening to his favorite radio soap. The signal was terrible, but he'd long since learned to decipher the language despite the garbled static that plagued the transmissions. That was until some very unusual movement in the distance caught his eye. Cooper scrambled to his feet and rushed to snap on his binoculars to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating. _Something_ had just broken the clouds and had begun to descend into the valley beneath. Cooper probably would have noted as well, given the distance between the cloud and the fortress, that this wasn't just something. It was something _big_.

The white snow of the valley turned black underneath the shadow of the titanic vessel as it approached the Briggs mountain fortress from above. It was a mechanical monstrosity over a thousand feet long, an elongated almost cigar-like shape framed by an armored superstructure. At the nose of this curious beige shape was painted a vicious shark face, a clever psychological ploy against any enemies that it would happen to face. Along its sides whirred a quartet of jet engines, providing it with mobility and maneuverability despite its size.

Slung underneath the gigantic main body was a comparatively small if still impressive chassis, which sported what appeared to be a likely bridge – for it seemed to be a ship of some sort, if one that sailed through the air. Behind that, if one could see the profile of the vessel from the side, they would notice a door that led to a cavernous hangar, and beneath this structure rotated a pair of massive triple turrets, one positioned under the bridge, and the other lower still, under the hangar.

Cooper immediately switched off his radio soap and got on the comms. "Birdwatcher Actual, this is Birdwatcher-04, do you copy, over?"

A quick burst of static was followed by a deep voice. "Loud and clear, Birdwatcher-04. What's your status?"

"Unidentified contact coming in at bearing 20!" Loud buzzing began to sound off from the direction of the machine, like an angry hornet's nest.

"Composition?" Birdwatcher Actual's voice was barely audible by this point. Cooper looked back up to see specks pouring out from the machine's side. So it did house hornets after all.

"Some kind of huge flying machine, Sir! It's got-" Cooper's voice drowned in a fiery explosion as one of the turrets rotated and fired a salvo at his lookout post, destroying it entirely.

On that day, the Drachmans had sent a message: the ceasefire was over.

* * *

AN: Okay, so she didn't actually have any _action_ per se, more like exposition. My apologies. But we'll have more happening next chapter.


	3. II: A Funny Thing Happened

**AN** : So, here's the next chapter. Where Tanya does more than just do an expositional monologue. Anyways, please post your reviews, comments, violent reactions, etc. Your feedback is very much appreciated!

 **Disclaimer** : Youjo Senki belongs to Being X. That's all I will say, lest I be the next one reincarnated into a suffering world. FMA is the property of Hiromu Arakawa. I wish I could come up with great stories like her.

* * *

 **II. A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to Central**

 _ENGINE 251, EAST CITY-CENTRAL CITY RAIL LINE, 9 MARCH, 1917_

Pleasant, idyllic countryside vistas passed along the outside of my window as I yawned in boredom. This was my first time away from East City. Hell, it was the first time I was away from the orphanage for any more than a few hours. But I had a goal, and nothing was going to stop me. Not even an act of Being X.

Though maybe boredom might slow me down somewhat. I yawned again as I shook my head and slapped my cheeks in an attempt to stay up. Six years of hard work reading up everything I could about alchemy and I was going to be set back by taking a nap on a train. To be fair, Central was hardly the closest place there was, so it was only understandable that the trip would take a couple of days.

In the meantime, there was literally nothing left to do. If I reviewed my notes and experiments yet again, I could end up suffering from a mental block later down the road. Most cram school teachers would advise taking an occasional rest from reviewing before taking an exam, lest your brain melt from over exhaustion. And so, the best course of action would be to take a break while I could. The exam was indeed still a few weeks away, even after I would arrive in Central, so there was plenty of time to just let my mind wander before getting back to my studies.

Staring outside, I'd recall that fateful day over nine years ago, when a subway train killed me, and how that bastard Being X decided to screw around with my life. I'd sworn to not give in to his plot, and to rise from the ashes like a phoenix in brilliance. The simplest way to disprove his asinine theory was to make sure my life was as comfortable as possible.

There were a few close calls. When I was five years old, there was rioting in a small east sector town called Lior. The military quelled it, but some religious lunatics working for some priest named Father Cornello successfully staged a bombing in East City. It was a block from the orphanage, and a piece of a building that had been destroyed landed three feet away from me.

A short time after that, some maniac Ishvalan fanatic with a grudge against State Alchemists went around town blowing up their faces with deconstructive alchemy. That included one Shou Tucker, a bio-alchemy specialist who gained his license two years prior from creating a talking chimera. About a year before the murder, I'd dropped by a few times to see if he could help me out. Unfortunately, he kept thinking I was there to play with his kid and her dog. What, just because I was around the same age automatically means I have the same mental capacities? I had to explain to him that I wanted to know more about his alchemy. He relented and let me borrow some books from his library. Even gave me a few of tips while he was at it.

It went on for several months. I'd take a couple hours of my free time to visit his library and read some books, practice the basics under his supervision, and then bring what I couldn't finish reading back to the orphanage. To say that my training got a serious turbocharge during that time was not an exaggeration. I thought I'd hit the jackpot. A State Alchemist who, while not spoonfeeding me with all of his secrets, gave me everything I needed to know to get in! However, as with all deals that seemed too good to be true, this one ended up being just that.

I eventually discovered, perhaps by accident, that he didn't really have anything to show from his 'amazing' creation. After all, creating an intelligent, talking chimera was one thing… Mixing up your wife with an animal to make it _look_ like you created a talking chimera was another. This other thing is called "fraud". Tucker was running a scam. I'd been had. He didn't deserve his license because he just cheated the process! I mean, any two bit alchemist could put two living things together. That's exactly what a chimera is. There was nothing groundbreaking with what he'd done at all. Of course, I made sure to give him a piece of my mind before leaving his place for the last time.

And what happened after that? Let's just say I didn't return the last batch of two dozen books I borrowed. It was the least he could do for wasting my time and making me think he'd come up with an incredible breakthrough. In retrospect, it was for the best that our 'friendship' didn't work out. Otherwise, that fanatic would've killed the both of us if he decided to walk in while I was practicing alchemy at Tucker's house.

The last incident happened a little over a year later, around the time when a conspiracy within Central Command pulled a coup in an attempt to usurp power, and assassinated the Fuhrer while he was on the way back from East City. I'm not quite sure what happened, but whatever it was, I blacked out for an hour or two. The news later revealed that the conspiracy had utilized a combination of the magmatic leylines flowing underneath the country, and the eclipse that was happening at the same time, to attempt a mass transmutation of some kind of agent that rendered its user highly susceptible to suggestion. In other words, they planned to simultaneously hit 50 million people with brainwashing gas.

The magma flows were used to channel the power, while the eclipse's shadow over Amestris served as the circle within which the alchemic reaction would be confined. That's actually a pretty clever plan, if they'd managed to pull it off. 50 million people turning into obedient drones. According to the news, the loyalists were fortunately able to interrupt this transmutation, causing a rebound that at worst, knocked everyone out for a couple of hours.

I probably would have handled it differently. For example, instead of assassinating a highly beloved Fuhrer, I would have just done the whole gas thing and kept him running things, albeit under my thumb. The whole nation would be brainwashed with minimal bloodshed, and the international community wouldn't even realize that Amestris was already under different leadership. No one would be the wiser.

Of course, since I'm not in charge of any sort of government conspiracy, then a guy can only dream, right? Sorry, a guy in a girl's body, to more precise.

In hindsight, it actually sounds like an alchemy-infused variant of the American chemtrail conspiracy theory, with the difference being that it's actually being _promoted_ by the government, rather than debunked. Probably because it's hard to deny the fact that the Fuhrer died in that coup, and there was a big commotion that took place at Central Headquarters. Once in a while, a little honesty with the public can go a long way to build up credibility. That would be one explanation for why they were so upfront about it.

At the risk of falling into conspiracy thinking, I'd say the other explanation is it's a cover story, and the truth is even crazier? But how much crazier can you get than an attempt to brainwash 50 million people in one go?

I shook the useless line of thinking out of my head. The fact remained. None of these events stopped me from continuing to pursue my goal of living a nice, comfortable life as a State Alchemist.

I stood up and left my cabin, wandering to the dining car to maybe get something to eat. Long trips like this can make a girl's body hungry, as I'd just begun to discover.

Having gotten myself a saucer of chocolates, I sat down at a vacant table and began to review my notes while enjoying some of these little delicacies – all at the orphanage's expense, of course. I'd struck a deal with those helpful social workers. If they funded my trip to Central, then I'd pay them back with a cut of my research grant. While they resisted, at first, considering my odds of topping the test, I eventually convinced them with a little application of logic and confidence. If I somehow failed to make State Alchemist this year, I'd find work and send them the reparations. Either way, I'd be able to pay them back somehow.

Child labor prohibitions apparently didn't exist in this country, and someone with my alchemic talents and intelligence could easily find some kind of gainful employment in short order.

While I had my face buried in one of the books I had liberated from Tucker's library, to be more precise, sandwiched somewhere in between the pages concerning Crowley's Theory of Azoth, a voice entered my ears.

"Is that an alchemy book you're reading?" It was light, like a bird's. I almost expected it to be a woman asking me that question, until I took my head out from the book and saw a young man. Tall, short blonde hair, and with a peculiar pair of golden eyes. You didn't see that kind of combination often. Especially not with such a ladylike voice.

"Why yes, yes it is." I said, absentmindedly putting another chocolate into my mouth. Who was this guy, and why was he interested in what looked like a little girl who happened to be reading an alchemy book?

"It's not a public school textbook either," he noted as he continued looking. "Actually, if anything, it looks like a university level publication."

"Well you know, the best books are the university books. You're not gonna find anything good in a high school science textbook, or those Alchemist Monthly tween magazines," I said aloud. I should know. I started by reading those two and found myself sorely wanting for more alchemic knowledge. And as with my world, the most in-depth publications where those you found in the libraries of professionals like Tucker, or locked away on private online journals restricted to memberships one would pay tens of thousands of yen to access.

"That's quite a thing to say for someone your age," he said, voice either betraying some slight surprise, or understating his shock. It was hard to tell, considering his demeanor seemed to be so polite. "May I sit down?" he gestured at the vacant seat across the table from me.

"Sure, go ahead." I went back to poring over Tucker's book. Seriously, who was this guy? It's almost as if it was his first time seeing a kid reading enthusiastically about alchemy. The rogue lock of my hair standing apart from the rest twitched as I began to worry about this mysterious guy sitting on the other end of my table.

"You know, you almost remind me of myself when I was your age," he continued on. "I also started young. My brother and I really got into the subject, since Dad left us a lot of books about it."

"Well, that's interesting," I said, not really paying attention to his words as I turned the page. They barely registered on my brain as they went in one ear and out the next. Next thing you know, he's going to prattle on about his adventures as a mild mannered young alchemist and how he won an award at the school science fair for transmuting some raw materials into a baking soda volcano.

"So what's a little girl like you doing reading university level alchemy textbooks on a train to Central?"

Pausing to organize my thoughts, I popped a chocolate into my mouth. This guy's angle still remained a mystery to me. And his excessive politeness was borderline creepy. He hasn't been going along with any of my not-all-that-subtle hints that I didn't want him around. Did he have something up his sleeve, or was he just that clueless? Did Being X send him? Was this guy his way of stopping me from reaching my dream of becoming a State Alchemist working at a quiet lab in some boring-yet-comfortable corner of Amestris?

Well if he was, then I should at least let him know I was on to him. Being X would have no excuse now. Once I tell my plans to this guy, he can't say I didn't warn him. And if he was just that clueless, well, maybe he'll get a clue.

I slid a bookmark in between the pages and shut Tucker's book, setting it down on the table next to my saucer of chocolates. "Oh, it's pretty simple, really." I smirked. "I'm gonna ace the alchemy exam and become a State Alchemist!"

He applauded with apparent sincerity. "Wow, that's amazing! And at such a young age, too!"

"Yeah, I heard the youngest State Alchemist ever was some farm kid named Edward Elric. Age thirteen. I'm gonna blow his record out of the water! Tanya Degurechaff at age nine!" Ah crap. Looks like I got a bit too excited. I even gave out my name.

"Really, now?" The young man's demeanor changed somewhat, as he gave me a knowing smile. "That's very interesting…!"

Okay, what the hell did I do wrong? Why is he smiling at me like that? Don't tell me I fell for some sort of trap!

"Then I wish you the best of luck on your goal, Tanya." The blonde man with a girly voice gave me a pat on the head. "The world needs more young bright alchemists to lead us into the future."

Why is he speaking like he's some kind of authority on this matter? Oh for the love of… don't tell me he's… I cleared my throat. "So uhh… I never caught your name, Mister…?"

"Alphonse."

Phew. Okay. Alphonse. Not Edward. It had just dawned on me that he was probably very close to, if he wasn't in fact, the same age that this Edward Elric kid should be right now. At least he wasn't Edward Elric, but some guy named Alphonse who happened to have a childhood interest in alchemy. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Alphonse." I stretched out my hand to offer a shake.

"Likewise, Tanya." He took my hand and we shook. "So where are you staying once you get to Central?"

"Oh, I haven't really thought about it yet. Some cheap bed and breakfast, I guess." I came from an orphanage running on social welfare. They didn't exactly have a pile of cenz just lying around for me to use. I had to plan my trip carefully. There was enough money for about a month's stay, including basic necessities, but the conditions had to be an absolute bargain bin deal. "I'm on a pretty tight budget."

"Hmm, I see…" Alphonse rubbed his chin in deep thought for a few moments, before a metaphorical lightbulb appeared over his head and he pounded his palm with a fist. "I know! Why don't you stay over with me and my alkahestry teacher? She cooks up a mean Kung Pao Chicken!"

Well, let's weigh the pros against the cons. On the one hand, I'd save a ton of money if I freeloaded off of Alphonse's rent. Of course I'd only take the free board and lodge, and make myself look like an upstanding well-raised little girl who pays for her own food, rather than abuse a young adult's generosity. On the other hand, he could just be a pedophilic sexual predator _pretending_ to know a lot about alchemy and _pretending_ to be living with a female Xingese alkahestry teacher in order to lower my guard. His demeanor _did_ shift somewhat after I mentioned my age. Why would I even consider these possibilities? Because nobody wants to get raped, female _or_ male. Better safe than sorry.

So how do I test this? Well, it could actually be a lot easier than one might think. "Really?" I feigned interest, widening my eyes appropriately. "Could you demonstrate some of that alkahestry for me? I've read about it in theory, but I've never actually seen anyone do it."

"Oh, well, it's not really as simple as that…" A worried look came over his face.

Aha. Gotcha. "Well, if you don't really know that much yet, it's okay."

"I mean, May knows a lot more than I do, so maybe you could just ask her to-"

"But it'd be really cool, you know," A fake name now? Oh no, you don't. I'm going to blow you wide open right this instant. Either you show me your alkahestry, or I'm calling your bluff. I started playing around with a steak knife, "If I could see how that works? It's really exci- Ow!" Of course I made it _look_ like I accidentally cut myself on the knife. But that was all part of the show.

"Oh, now look what happened!" Alphonse scolded with just the slightest hint of frustration in his gentle voice. He clapped his hands together and held my bleeding finger between them. A bluish, almost white light enveloped our table as some kind of reaction took place. I could feel the warmth flow from his hand, pass through my finger, and then back out into his other hand.

When the light faded out, the cut was gone. In fact, it didn't even look like there was a cut in the first place. No scarring. Just my finger, back in its pristine condition. My jaw dropped. This guy knew alkahestry. He was the real deal. More shocking, however, was the fact that he was able to perform a transmutation just by clapping his hands.

I was expecting him to quickly inscribe an alkahestric pentagram. Instead, he clapped his hands. What madness was this? Did alkahestry run on different rules? Was it possible to create a pseudo-circle just by clapping one's hands?

It wasn't the clapping that was special. I've read a lot of books recommending an alchemist wear gloves with their specialty circles stitched into them. Instant transmutations with a clap of the hands. Or tattoo them directly on their palms, even. But I saw Alphonse's hands. He wasn't wearing gloves, and there was nothing on his palms. They were clean. "How did you…"

Alphonse put a finger to his lips and silenced me. "Shhh," he winked. "It's a special talent of mine. Don't tell anyone."

"R… right." I cleared my throat. "Sorry about that." So he knew alkahestry. Maybe I could trust him. Hell… maybe if he turned out to be the real deal, maybe I could _use_ him. I pushed my saucer in his direction, offering him a chocolate. "Here. For the trouble."

Alphonse only chuckled. "Nah, it's alright. I know kids can be pretty rash sometimes." He sounded like he spoke from experience. "So, you okay staying over with us? It could really save on your budget."

I smiled. "Well, I guess there's no harm to it." At least, if he really was this nice guy who happened to have an alkahestry teacher. If he was in fact a sexual predator who happened to know alkahestry, then I'd have to be very careful about this.

We spent the rest of that afternoon exchanging notes about alchemy. Alphonse proved to have encyclopedic knowledge of the very broad field, and despite his modesty concerning the limitations of his alkahestric knowhow, he still knew far more about it than all of the books I've read combined. Add to that his polite personality, and I was starting to think about the possibilities. If he really was what he seemed to be, and if I could cultivate a healthy enough relationship with him and his teacher, then I could learn both alchemy _and_ alkahestry from a very talented pair of individuals. It would make my ascent to the station of State Alchemist so. Much. Easier.

Too bad, Being X! Looks like I've won this round!

~O~O~O~

 _ALPHONSE'S CENTRAL APARTMENT, 11 MARCH, 1917_

Alphonse, ever the mild mannered gentleman, had offered to carry my luggage up the stairs after we had gotten off the cab. I of course put in some token resistance imploring him to let me carry my own things, but quickly relented as he oh-so-gently insisted that it wouldn't be appropriate, especially considering how he and his teacher were staying up on the third story.

It should be important to note that this specific type of 'cab' was not a cab in the modern sense, as it was in the older sense: a two-seated mini-carriage drawn by a horse. I'd thought this was mainly a thing in East City, but to see horse drawn vehicles composing a majority of the traffic running along the capital's streets implied a certain issue with modernization.

Or maybe, because of the previous Führer's decision to focus on military armament, the civilian and private sectors had yet to catch up. That was the simplest explanation, really.

We ascended the tight wooden stairwell, which was the first thing I saw when I opened the front door for poor Alphonse, who had his hands and arms full with our bags. It was a narrow building, perhaps enough to house two doors per story, but at least it offered some privacy. After all, each family had their own unit, and didn't have to put up with common areas, unlike the orphanage.

By the time we reached the third floor, Alphonse was still, surprisingly, in peak condition. He hadn't even broken a sweat. He was obviously in very good health. Setting a bag down, he reached into his coat pocket and gave me the key. "Here, Tanya. It turns to the right."

I nodded and took his keys, sliding the first one into the deadbolt lock and undoing it, before moving on to the knob lock. I pushed the door open, and what I saw drained the color from my face. If you're wondering why, it was because I was standing face to face with a giant panda.

I screamed.

Apparently not one to lose in a shouting match, the giant black and white furball roared.

I screamed some more.

It roared even louder.

What the hell was this!? Some kind of sick joke?

"Mei, no! Calm down!" Alphonse shouted, dropping the bags and giving the panda a hug from the said. "Tanya here's our guest!"

… May? "Alphonse…" I stopped screaming as I tried to put it all together, eyebrow rising in confusion. "You're telling me that your alkahestry teacher is a giant Xingese panda?" And what the hell is he doing keeping a _giant panda_ in his apartment anyway? Don't they have laws against keeping exotic pets here?

"Eh?" Alphonse looked at me, confused. So did the bear.

"Actually," a voice came from behind the two of them. " _I'm_ his alkahestry teacher!" Soon enough, a girl, possibly in her early teens, stepped to the fore. She was about a head shorter than Alphonse and wore pink Eastern-looking clothing, with her dark hair kept up in braided bunds.

Alphonse cleared his throat and immediately got to the introductions. "Tanya, this is my alkahestry teacher, May Chang, and this is our friend Xiao Mei. May and Mei, this is Tanya Degurechaff. She'll be staying with us while she reviews for the State Alchemy exam next month."

"Hmm…" May stooped down to my level and looked me up and down. "So you're planning to become a State Alchemist, eh?" I couldn't help but feel like she was eyeing me with some sort of suspicion.

"That's right," I answered with a smile before bowing. "I'll be sure to carry my weight during my stay. The last thing I want to be is a bother."

"She's also interested in learning some alkahestry while she's here," Alphonse added. "I was hoping you wouldn't mind."

"Oh. Well if she wants to learn, I don't see why not." May said, thinking it over. "Still, this is pretty unexpected, Al. How'd you two meet?"

"On the train here," Alphonse replied, scratching his head. "I mean, I saw she was reading an advanced alchemy book, so I got curious. She's a good kid, very well-mannered."

"I can see that…" May spent a few more moments looking me over, still with a bit of suspicion left over.

What's her deal, anyway? Does she think I'm here to steal her boyfriend away? Is that what they are? A couple? If so, it's funny that he would only call her his teacher all this time… Unless they were in the middle of a lover's quarrel? They don't seem to be angry at each other. If anything, May seems protectively jealous. Well maybe they want to keep it a secret? But no, they actually seem much closer than student and teacher if you just looked at them for a few seconds. Hell, they were _cohabiting_. So what could possibly be the reason that he didn't call her his girlfriend…?

A lump began to form in the pit of my stomach. Maybe the reason behind this was… I looked her over. She was a head shorter than Alphonse, less developed looking implying an early teen age… Could it be… that wasn't legal yet…? Which… Which meant I was right about Alphonse being pedophilic. Kill. Me. Already. What have I gotten myself into?

Alphonse smiled and May tried her best to do the same, as they escorted me into the room. This was going to be an awkward few weeks…

Damn you, Being X!

 **To be continued…**

* * *

 **AN:** One of the funniest things about Youjo Senki is the ton of hilarious misunderstandings. And so, I present to you, the first big one here: Pedo-Al! As usual, your comments and feedback are very much treasured.


	4. III: Morning Snapshot

**AN:** So I've gotten a few reviews saying I've got Tanya acting like a girl despite, you know, being a guy inside. I have no idea how that conclusion was reached. I tend to write characters neutrally, and so these accusations make no sense to me. Since they didn't specify what they meant by that, I would like to ask them to PM me on this issue so that we can discuss it in private. For now, some responses to those who did not post while signed in:

Loli: Uhm… I can't exactly say _when_ we'll see her doing it, but hopefully soon-ish. After all, it's not like Tanya _wants_ to go to the front lines. ;)

Okay, with that done, on with the show!

 **Disclaimer:** Youjo Senki is the property of Being X. Fullmetal Alchemist belongs to Hiromu Arakawa.

* * *

 **III. MORNING SNAPSHOT**

 _ROOF, ALPHONSE'S CENTRAL APARTMENT, 12 MARCH, 1917_

Spring was in the air. The sun was just about to peek from behind the mountains to the east, and the local early songbirds had begun to sing their wakeup calls to tell their chicks that it was time to get up because they'd brought them a nice breakfast of worms. Such efficiency in nature was something humans in general struggled to replicate. Instead of instinct, they would use alarm clocks and mobile reminders to get themselves out of bed and ready for work.

That was the general population, at least. But some individuals, myself, for example, had created something called a system, which, when applied consistently enough becomes something called a habit, which one might consider an artificial instinct. It certainly works with the same efficiency as animal instinct. This was why despite the clock reading half past six, I was already up and about, watching May performing her morning ritual.

The Far Eastern girl was performing smooth, one might say 'watery' movements, due to how her limbs seemed to flow from one stance to the next. I'd kept myself fit in my past life. Good health was necessary to maintaining peak work efficiency and minimizing the loss of productive hours from things like diseases. Even the common cold could throw a real dampener on even the most productive employee, after all.

As such, it shouldn't have been surprising that I picked up a bit of insight on the different exercise regimens out there. This one, in particular, reminded me of Tai Chi. In fact, it might as well have been Tai Chi, considering how it was a more or less spot on session. It only made sense then, that she would do something like this. Alchemy – or in May's case, Alkahestry – was like any other line of work. A healthy body meant you could be more productive throughout your practice.

The only thing that made this otherwise generic morning exercise ritual stand out into something of a bizarre scene was the fact that her panda, Xiao Mei, was parroting each and every movement that she made. Not only that. She did so with alarming accuracy. It was telling that they called her their 'friend', rather than pet. They must have been together for many years for a _panda_ to so fluidly replicate the movements of its master's Tai Chi regimen.

"So Tanya," May spoke up while in the middle of performing a form. She didn't even look at me, her focus remaining on a plain oak table standing across the roof from her as she continued to practice. "Al wouldn't tell me why you wanted to become a State Alchemist. What's in it for you? Money? Power? Knowledge? Maybe you want access to the military's research on human transmutation so you can bring a dead loved one back to life? That last one's illegal, you know."

I kept a straight face as she probed me. The first one was somewhat on the mark. You need a good salary for comfortable living. And from what I've read, a State Alchemist's annual grant was a delicious sum that was easily capable of funding an exciting globe trekking lifestyle in a world where airplanes – and therefore cheap aerial travel - didn't seem to exist just yet. Which meant that a comfortable and relatively decadent living was easily doable with that grant. All I needed to do was produce results once a year, and I'd be set for life.

So yes, in a way, I was after the money.

Power? That was just another perk. But it was a perk that came with strings. The 'power' of a State Alchemist came from their insertion into the chain of command. Which meant that, while I held power over anyone I outranked and couldn't be bossed around by my peers, I would be at the mercy of the remainder – my superiors. I imagine the power would come in handy when requesting materiel from the PX to be delivered to my lab. At least I wouldn't have to go get it myself.

Knowledge? I wouldn't pursue it for its own sake like some ivory tower intellectual. I'd use it for practical purposes. Like producing results for my annual review, and developing the Amestrian military in a field that would put them yet another cut above the rest. If you lived in the most powerful nation in the world, a nation that stood head and shoulders above all of its competitors in terms of technology, strategy, and tactics, you wouldn't have to worry about losing a war.

That last one, however, was just oddly specific. Maybe she knew someone who tried that and they ended up getting executed for it. Perhaps May was trying to warn me about such dangers. Well, she needn't worry. I have no intention of performing such a suicidal ploy. Breaking the law? That was the fast track to oblivion.

"I just want to serve my country is all," a lie, of course. I just want the money and the cushy lifestyle. But a silver tongue goes a long way to winning hearts, establishing connections, and creating useful pawns. I have to be a fine, upstanding citizen. "And since I already know quite a bit of alchemy, I figure it's better to start applying it earlier than later. Edward Elric started at the age of 13. Why can't I start at the age of 9?"

"Al tells me the people don't like State Alchemists that much," May went on, as she performed a semi-complex form that looked like it could easily be used for a fight. Tai Chi wasn't just some exercise plan after all. It was also, in itself, a martial art. I wouldn't be surprised if this girl could beat up a man twice her size. "There's an old saying in this country. 'Alchemist, be thou for the people'. I'm sure you've heard of it before, so I'll skip the details. But a lot of folks think State Alchemists have sold out to the military for money and power, rather than doing civil service on their own terms, you know?"

It's true that in some western nations on Earth, the government is seen as a potentially abusive force whose power must be kept to an utter minimum. But see, where I come from, the government is a force that works _with_ business, rather than tyrannically dictating it like a certain Union that collapsed a while back. We had something called the 'Economic Miracle', which was brought about by heavy collusion between private corporations, the government, and the civil servants, raising Japan up from a ruined war-torn twice-nuked mess into a global economic power – second highest of the G7, and third in the world. As such, while I have a somewhat theoretical understanding of this skeptical attitude, in practice, I've never actually seen much of it.

"But doesn't the military serve the people? And can't a well-funded and properly empowered State Alchemist do far more good than a private practitioner who probably can't even pay for his own materiel?" It's a socialist argument rather than a free market principle. In a truly free market, the private alchemist can only succeed if he delivers the best quality service, which will guarantee him good pay and thus more resources to improve his business. Compare this to a fully government subsidized firm that gets paid regardless of how poor their product or service is. They might lose business, but the tax money continues to pour into their accounts, rewarding their inefficiency. It's been demonstrated by the destruction of the Soviet economy that sooner or later, too much government involvement will lead to an eventual collapse. There needs to be a balance for this sort of thing to work out.

But you know what? Something like total economic collapse takes decades, even with dictatorial government strangulation. I'm going to milk that government cow for all it's worth, and when I've earned enough, I'll resign my commission and start my _own_ alchemy firm. A private practice where I can apply free market principles and set myself up for life.

"Yeah, but try arguing with the oppressed people about that," May performed another form, this one likely to take down a grizzly bear or something of similar size. A handy move, I'd imagine, considering she also probably spars with Xiao Mei. Said combo was still aimed at the table. She really seemed to have a grudge against it or something. "I'd suggest you keep your pocket watch out of sight once you get it."

"Thanks for the advice," I smiled warmly and performed some stretches of my own. It was a lot better than standing out here on the roof staring at her while waiting for the sun to rise. "So when are you gonna start using Alkahestry?"

"I've been doing it this whole time, Tanya," the Xingese girl smirked as her body swayed from side to side in preparation for a series of sidekicks. "You see, one difference between alchemy and alkahestry lies in their power source. Alchemy takes its power from geothermal and tectonic energy. Alkahestry gets its power from the Dragon's Pulse, the chi that flows through the leylines across the surface of the world. It starts from the tops of the mountains, and like a river, flows down into valleys and lowlands, eventually bottoming up in the ocean."

"Wait, so then…" I froze as she explained this surprising twist. The 'Dragon's Pulse' principle wasn't some fancy Xingese way of describing geothermal or even hydrodynamic energy. It was literally talking about 'chi'. As in, the mystical life force allegedly present in all things, uniting them together. It was an absurd idea, of course. No alchemist actually believed in chi. They believed in the principle of All is One, which was something else entirely. There wasn't a literal life energy uniting all things, so much as a natural connectedness that binds all things together in causality. Things like the food web. The water cycle. The mineral cycle. But this? "You use _chi_?"

Maybe that was why all of Tucker's books covering the subject had a lot of speculation and question marks. They were looking at it from a purely materialistic perspective. I thought so too. Yet I'd seen alkahestry at work for myself. And now this girl was saying her people got their power from literal chi…

"That's right!" May giggled. "By practicing my forms, I've been attuning myself to the flow of chi around this area. And this morning, it's looking nice and smooth!" In one swift motion, she had drawn a Xingese pentagram into the roof with what apparently looked like a stick of chalk she'd held between her toes. Without warning, she flipped into the air, spinning like an airborne top for a few seconds, during which a set of five kunai – presumably something she pulled from somewhere on her person – struck the five points of the star.

She landed with her hands touching the circle, activating it…. but what was she transmuting? I continued to watch, dumbstruck as alkahestric energy arced from the hilts of the ninja daggers, and connected… with another set of kunai that had apparently embedded themselves into the table while I wasn't looking. Given her ninja-like speed, it was clear that she had probably done that around the same time she threw the first set at her pentagram. And just like that, a brief flash of light enveloped the table, quickly fading out to reveal that it had been transmuted into a chair.

"Wow! That's amazing!" I couldn't help but applaud. Of course the cheering might have been a bit of an exaggeration, but this was obviously a demonstration she was giving me here. Might as well make it look like I was "super" impressed, instead of just "very" impressed. "The books never mentioned you could perform alkahestry at a distance!"

And if university books didn't know about it, then someone with a sufficient proficiency in alkahestry would have a decisive edge in the test. Combine this long-range transmutation with my own specialization, and you have a winning recipe for a sure spot as a State Alchemist! And even if there wasn't enough time for me to learn it for the test… I could always use it during my evaluation next year.

May wiped the sweat from her forehead and gave me a thumbs up. "There's not a lot of contact between our two countries thanks to that great desert. I'm not surprised they know so little about it. But ranged transmutation is just one of a few other differences our two styles have. By the way…" Her eyes narrowed again as she looked in my direction. "From the way you say it, you sound pretty familiar with chi. You didn't even say something like, 'what's that'? You sure this is the first time you've heard a correct explanation of the Dragon's Pulse?"

"Well I mean uhh…" Think! Think!

"Al tells me most western books explain it away with some scientific-sounding mumbo jumbo about using energy from the 'water cycle'." May emphasized the last two words with air quotes and huffed. "I mean we use watery analogies because that's the best we've got for the physical world, but ki is an immaterial force. It surrounds us. It penetrates us. It binds the world together."

Why did that description sound like it came from the mouth of an old British-sounding desert hermit…?

"So why do you sound like you know what chi is?" She leaned in, staring down at me like some kind of police officer interrogating a perp.

"I mean, it wasn't just alchemy books…" Yes, because chi is not just an alchemic principle. "I also had a book about traditional Xingese medicine. Things like acupuncture, herbal medicine, tui na, chi kung… It was written from an Amestrian scholar's perspective, and he thought…"

"Thought it was some kind of pseudoscientific garbage, yeah?"

I nodded sheepishly.

May only sighed and rubbed her forehead before muttering something about Amestrian scientists being ignorant in their arrogance. To be fair, where I come from, it _is_ pseudoscientific garbage. But apparently, it's a legitimate means to power alchemy in this world. And well, alchemy itself is a functional branch of science here too. What's next, I wonder. Psychic powers?

She finished with her tirade on arrogant scientists with a frustrated grunt. "Alright. So, if you're going to learn how to use alkahestry, we've got to get those notions of 'pseudoscience' out of your head. Science is a great system, I'm sure! But the people who use science aren't perfect, and they have to experiment in order to find the truth, right?"

"Right."

"Then that's what we're gonna do. Set the science straight." May leaned in again. She really did seem to like intimidating me for some reason. Perhaps it's because, aside from presumably thinking that I'm after her boyfriend or whatever, she also thinks I'm some kind of arrogant proponent of scientism. Of course with this body, and her superior combat skill, there was no way I'd be able to win in a physical battle anyway. I stared up as she spoke again. "Just promise me that whatever happens at the test next month, you'll stick to using what I'm going to teach you for good things."

… So I guess that makes her Uncle Ben. Though she's being far less subtle than 'with great power comes great responsibility'. Well I suppose if by 'good', you mean something that ultimately benefits the nation – and my reputation – no matter what the immediate effect is, then sure, I can promise to do that. For a certain definition of 'good'. After all… when you enter the service of a utilitarian body such as the military, the end justifies the means, whatever means that might be.

I nodded, sticking out my pinky for a pinky swear. You know… because that's something girls and little kids do. It would certainly add to my girlish image. "I swear. I'll only use this for good."

"Great!" May lightened up and smiled, shaking my pinky with her own before standing back up straight. "Then let's get started! Lesson One for Alkahestry is House Chang-style Tai Chi!"

So it _was_ Tai Chi. Heh. Guess watching videos to identify the best morning exercise routine for my own purposes paid off.

That being said, the degree with which she changed attitudes was, I'd like to think, a result of an effective ruse of making myself look like some sort of goodie-two-shoes. Either that, or she's easy to sway with a convincing enough performance. One or the other.

Conclusion on May Chang: She might put up a suspicious, alert front, but she's ultimately easy to convince.

~O~O~O~

"There's something… unusual about her, Brother." Alphonse Elric spoke into the phone receiver as he gazed out the window and down at the street, which was beginning to stir to life with all sorts of people, from the milkman to the paperboy. Telephones were a luxury these days, and it took a lot of money to get a line. But it was well worth it. "I mean, aside from her aptitude. We spent a couple of days talking on the train. She knows as much as we did when we were her age. Maybe even more. But the way she presents herself is… I can't pin it, exactly."

A voice on the other end of the line answered. Alphonse nodded, as if the other end of the line could see him move his head.

"She seems to be a very good girl, except for this one moment when we first met. That one time, it was as if she had a very ambitious air about her."

The voice spoke again.

"I mean there's nothing wrong with being ambitious, of course. And I guess you can put it off to childish pride too, yeah. Back then, we thought we could take on the world-" the younger Elric cut himself off. "I mean we did kind of take on the world in the end, but not without learning a lot about respecting it." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'm letting her stay with the Mays and I. We should be able to get a better grasp of her this way. Personally, I'm very interested to see what kind of alchemy she can do too."

A questioning tone from the other end.

"No, she never demonstrated it on the train. Come to think of it, I guess that wasn't much of an equivalent exchange." He chuckled. "She wanted me to show her some alkahestry, and… well see, there was an accident, so I had to do it in a rush. Anyway, I showed her my trick, but she never showed me hers. Looks like I'll have to ask her for a demonstration too, huh?"

One could almost imagine the person on the other end cracking up as his laughing could be heard even at a distance from the receiver.

"Well I guess it might be considered cheating…" Al mused aloud. "You're right, it's probably better if I let her surprise me. I can just leave the direct training to May too. It seems Tanya's more interested in Alkahestry at the moment, anyway…" he added, stroking his chin in thought. "But I wouldn't be surprised if she went back to asking me about the 'clap' trick later on. I tried to be evasive about it on the train, but she'd bring it up every now and then."

A stern warning from across the line.

"Yes, of course. I wouldn't want her to try human transmutation, just to be able to 'clap'. We both know what that will cost her. Don't worry. She'll never know." Al didn't need to be reminded of that experience he had, spending several years trapped in a suit of armor while his body was kept barely alive in the Truth's custody.

While that had its own advantages, as Barry the Chopper had once told him, like never having to sleep or eat, there was nothing quite like having a real _human_ body. After all… it was what he was born with. And while he valued the experiences and time he spent in that suit, it was only because of the adventures he'd shared with his brother, and the people he'd met. The iron body was a vessel for all those things. That was all.

Alphonse nodded to himself, reaching a clear conclusion. "I'll be sure to keep a close eye on her from now on, Brother. We'll see what kind of person she turns out to be…"

To be continued…

* * *

AN: Almost two months. Wow. Didn't realize things would get this hectic. Sorry to have kept everyone waiting. I'm not sure what happened, really… time just seemed to go so fast with work and… well anyway, it's here now (barring two days of acting weird).


	5. IV: Siege Perilous

**AN** : Okay, so a little over a month isn't bad. Glad to know that I managed to get this out faster than the last one. I can't make any promises, since my life is a bit unstable these days, but I'll try to update when I can.

 **Disclaimer** : Youjo Senki is the property of Being X. FMA is the property of Hiromu Arakawa.

* * *

 **IV. SIEGE PERILOUS**

 _ROOF, ALPHONSE'S CENTRAL APARTMENT, 13 APRIL, 1917_

"So how's the chi flowing today, Tanya?" From her spot next to the roof door, May sipped from a cup of Winter Haze oolong tea while reclining into a nice comfy chair. By her side, Xiao Mei sat on the roof… and of course, she also had a cup of tea.

And where was I? In the spot where she once stood several weeks ago, when she first demonstrated Alkahestry. What was I doing? Take a guess. You only need one. The answer was obvious. I was practicing her clan's Tai-Chi form, shifting from one stance to another, limbs and body flowing like water.

How did I get that proficient in a few weeks? A person can do a lot in a month. Especially considering that particular experiment on neuroplasticity and wearing eyeglasses that caused inverted vision. I'll skip right to the conclusion rather than bore you to death with the details of the experiment itself: do something for 21 days straight, and it'll create new neuropathways in your brain, turning it into a routine. Well technically, it's 21 to 40 days, but 21 is about minimum. Further repetition to at least 66 days will then make your routines evolve into habits, which as I already said, are an artificial instinct. They run on autopilot. You don't think about brushing your teeth or tying your shoelaces. At least I hope not.

Anyway, the point is, I've been learning Tai-Chi by coming up here every morning at six, and giving it 110 percent of my sweat, all the way to just before lunch time. If you're going to get into something new, you better put all your hard work into it. It helps you master it all the better.

The brilliant part was, with how seriously I took this training, I was actually starting to understand the Xingese perspective by experience. Something like a third eye had opened up in my being, so to speak, because that question she just asked?

"Wide flow, calm current."

I could readily answer it like I was watching a weather bulletin on the morning news.

"Perfect for smooth sailing," I added, jokingly shifting the river metaphor to a more literal sense before going back to Alkahestry. "Looks like today's a good day to get some transmutation done." It's hard to explain how it works, exactly. The best way I can put it is like when you've spent the whole day playing around in a swimming pool. After you're done, showered, changed, and lying down in the resort room you booked, you can sometimes almost feel like you're still floating around in phantom waters, complete with a current, if any, and the sensation of your body bobbing up and down. It's like that. That's how I sense the Dragon's Pulse.

"Think you're ready to pull it off?" May took another sip. "Yesterday didn't exactly work out, even with similar conditions on the Pulse."

I grinned widely, a wild, burning determination visible in my eyes. "Yesterday ain't today! Never let the past dictate the future!" I clenched my fist before pulling up a pair of kunai from the black obi around my waist – she'd given me one of her old gi to use for training. It fit surprisingly well.

If it wasn't obvious by now, Xing had a combination of both Chinese and Japanese characteristics. It's probably weird imagining a nine year old blonde Caucasian girl wearing a Japanese gi while practicing a Chinese martial art… but that's pretty much what I was at this point.

Feel free to laugh at a mental image that would fit perfectly in a hypothetical 80's Hollywood action comedy entitled 'Kindergarten Kung Fu Master'. Somehow, I got the feeling that going through this for almost a month was part of some plot that Being X intended to use to embarrass me.

"Hoh." May seemed impressed enough by my declaration, and nodded her head before finishing her tea. Xiao Mei poured her another cup. "I always did like your spunk, Tanya. That never give up attitude of yours will take you places."

Damn right, it will. I closed my eyes and focused. The Pulse was there, ebbing calmly like a wide placid river. The wider a river is, the calmer the currents get. The same principle seemed to operate with the Pulse. That made things easier. At least I didn't have to subject myself to some bizarre counterintuitive analogy. That being said, with May's training, I could now appreciate the chi element of Alkahestry as something approaching a legitimately scientific method.

Formulae flashed through my mind's eye. I knew exactly what I had to draw. All those extra hours of studying Alkahestric purification circle diagrams alongside my own Alchemic transmutation circle diagrams were starting to pay off. I picked up the chalk in between my toes and drew it: that basic pentacle she had so quickly done so as to make it look like child's play. You could of course imagine the amount of balancing needed to draw such a diagram while standing on one leg. But May had taught me that exact form, and I had no trouble with my balance. While it took me about half a minute to do so compared to her scant split seconds, it was at least geometrically correct.

May obviously had many years of practice to be able to do it so fast.

I opened my eyes and looked at my target. _That chair_. It had been structurally mangled over the past weeks, primarily because it was the main subject of my transmutation practice. The backrest had already come loose and was hanging from the left nail, while one of the legs had become shorter than the other three. Or well, given the law of equivalent exchange, it's more likely that matter was removed from that leg and redistributed to the rest of the legs. The rear of the seat had sunk down so that using it gave you the impression that it was threatening to squeeze your butt tight.

In short, I had kept botching my attempts to use Alkahestry to transmute it back into a table. And May told me using Alchemy on it was not allowed.

Well, I was feeling pretty prepared today, and the Pulse felt really good. So why not make it happen for real? Twelfth time's a charm. My left arm flicked out as I chucked one kunai at the chair, while I stabbed the pentacle using the one in my right hand. Picturing what I wanted in my head, I set my fingers down to touch the diagram and start the reaction. Alkahestric energy arced from one kunai to the other, the two daggers connected by the flow of the Dragon's Pulse.

Light flashed bright and blinding for a moment. My eyes lit up in expectation and my lips curled into a smile. I'd done it! I just had to! There was no way that wasn't a success!

"That uhh…" Apparently, May was more used to that light than I was, because she could already see it while I still had green spots blocking my vision. And I didn't like the disappointed tone that her voice had taken. "I think you'll have to try again tomorrow."

I rubbed the glare out of my eyes. Slowly, they adjusted, and the blind spots disappeared from my field of view. It wasn't a table. It wasn't even _that chair_. It was a monstrosity. Some twisted, unusable construct of wood that would probably be more fitting in a surrealist's art exhibit than a living room. Where one needed straight legs, there were uneven multi-angled joints. Where one would expect a flat seat, there sat winding intertwined varnished appendages. There wasn't even a backrest to speak of so much as a wooden ball peppered with holes that vaguely resembled a face.

 _That chair._

"Okay, I think we should work a bit more on your visualization."

 _That chair._

"Tanya?"

 _That chair._

"Hello? Tanya?"

 _That chair…_

"Tanya!"

"Huh?" I snapped out of some sort of reverie. "Y… yes?"

"I think we should get back to working on your visualization," May repeated, sipping from her teacup. "This is definitely not a table."

"Yeah. It's definitely not…"

I sighed and turned away from _that chair_ in order to better focus on visualization. Everything went right in my head. I saw it all. The formulae, the current form, the underlying elements, the flow of the Pulse, the virtual meridians that I would use to reshape _that chair_ into a table. What was missing? What did I do wrong? My mental images were crystal clear. So why did I screw up so badly? Self-doubt is a terrible thing. The uncertainty of not comprehending what your mistake was will only make you lose more confidence as you grow more paranoid about just what went wrong.

As the morning went by, and transitioned to noon, I did nothing but practice my visualizations. That mainly involved sitting down in a traditional lotus position and keeping my eyes shut, allowing the chi to flow through my being as I formed pictures, and combined them with principles and equations. I'd attempted that transmutation eleven times before, but it never went this bad. Not even on my first attempt. Each day I screwed up, I'd practice visualizing things again, hopefully to get it right the next day.

Visualization was a key component of Alkahestry, similar to, but not exactly like Alchemy, which used raw data before anything else. If you were going to visualize something alchemically, it would primarily be an object with specific measurements. Elemental, composition, mass, volume, density, temperature… See? Raw data. If it was an object in motion, like say, pulling bedrock out of the ground and turning it into a moving battering ram, you would factor in the appropriate physics equations. Velocity, acceleration, etc. Alkahestric visualization was more like… imagining yourself performing the transmutation, using virtual meridians of the Dragon's Pulse as your tools to reshape one object into another. In the case of medicine, the chi had a nourishing effect, revitalizing ailing biology.

May was teaching me to visualize revitalization. Nourishment. Healing. To 'heal' the 'injured' chair back into a table. But looking at it from both perspectives, I could do so much more than just that. The scientific methods of Alchemy, and the philosophical principles of Alkahestry could, when combined, do some pretty incredible things.

Let's look at the field of medicine. If you combined this method of seeing yourself performing the act with say, encyclopedic surgical knowledge, and the fact that Alkahestric processes are far more precise than any mere tool, you could execute hideously effective surgeries that would make modern surgical advancements look amateur in comparison. Compare, if you will, a coronary arterial bypass, which involves diverting blood around a clogged artery much like a highway detour, to an Alkahestric 'surgery' where you simply remove the clogging by disintegrating the plaque. Oh, and it of course happens at the speed of imagination, so there is minimal risk of the patient suffering from cardiac arrest while you're doing it, not to mention the chi of the Dragon's Pulse keeping them healthy while you perform this 'surgery'. It can take the place of antiseptics, anesthesia, and any other drug that happens to be necessary to ensure a patient's safety, thanks to its vague concept of "healing".

The obvious caveat is that you actually need sufficient medical knowledge to perform a surgery of that scale, similar to that of a heart surgeon. What Alphonse did to my finger on the train was the Alkahestric equivalent of first aid. All that being said, and given my performance today, I'm far from being a certified medical Alkahestrist.

As the sun approached its zenith, I opened my eyes and stood back up, wiping the sweat from my brow and reaching for the towel hanging in the shade. May had also spent this time meditating, and was just snapping out of her trance. "Guess it's time for lunch, huh?"

"Yep, sure is." She opened up her eyes and stretched, Xiao Mei following her lead. "I'll be making Cha siu bao for the three of us."

"Just the three of us?" My eyebrow rose.

"Al went out early again today," she explained. "He won't be back until after dark."

"He seems to be doing that more often these days," I pointed out. "Is everything alright?" Normally, Alphonse would spend some time watching us here in the morning, before going back inside and working on his alchemic studies, or practicing Alkahestry on his own. Sometimes, he'd be chatting somebody up on the phone. So it was pretty odd that this week, in particular, he was going out more often. What could he possibly be up to? Heh. Maybe he's also preparing for the exam and plans to become a State Alchemist. Not that he needed the money, though. From the looks of this place, they were pretty well off.

"Yeah, everything's A-Okay!" May smiled and gave me a thumbs up. "He's just got to deal with a few major interests outdoors for the time being. Don't worry about it." She opened the door and beckoned myself and the panda to follow her back inside.

I helped out with making lunch. Why? Cooking was a practical skill to learn when living alone. At least, until TV dinners get invented (or TV, for the matter), I should be capable of making something that can satisfy my own palate. The fact that they had a refrigerator really aided in preserving the ingredients and allowing for advanced menu planning. We never had one at the orphanage. Mind you, this was a very, very early model that suspiciously resembled the original Kelvinator. Commercial home refrigerators only came out last year, and were still extremely hefty in terms of price.

Fortunately for us, May was a princess. Or at least, that was what she told me when I asked her about where she learned all of her Alkahestry. It would at least help explain why they had a phone _and_ a refrigerator. The only thing missing was a car, but considering this apartment building didn't come with parking – because cars haven't completely replaced carriages yet, obviously – it would make sense that they would leave it out, at least until they bought their own property.

Of course, leaving aside that May was rich, there was still the issue of what kind of work Alphonse actually did, if he had any. He didn't seem to run a private alchemy firm. Could it be that he was devoting all of his time to studying? Well, considering his passion for the field, it wouldn't be surprising for him to just do so as soon as he stumbled upon this romantic subsidy. Ah, yes, I have to hand it to him. Mooching off his royal girlfriend's treasures is a very clever strategy. The fact that she shares his interests also makes her less likely to cut his funding. But surely, that money won't last forever. Maybe that's why he's preparing for the test. At least I think he is.

I don't know what the political climate is in Xing, but if House Yao's hastily-built unification bid screws up, then we might be looking at a republican revolution in the near future. And that would mean May and Alphonse would have to get jobs. "Have you ever considered applying for gainful employment?"

"Huh?" May stopped kneading the dough for a moment as she looked at me with a puzzled expression.

"I mean, it's nice that you're a princess and all. But these are pretty turbulent times we live in. Not to wish anything bad on Emperor Yao's efforts, but have you thought about getting to work on a Plan B to secure your future?"

"You mean, get a job?" She went back to kneading as soon as she understood what I meant.

"Exactly." I nodded as I chopped up the onions. "You're a highly skilled Alkahestric practitioner. Surely you could make a living, and not to mention help promote your knowledge and culture here by… I dunno, teaching Alkahestry at Central University, or something."

May laughed as she began to roll up the dough and cut it into equal portions. "A teacher. Well, I might consider it once my first two students graduate, mmm? Then I'll have more credibility as a teacher, and maybe Central University will be more likely to take me in."

I laughed along with her. "Yeah, you're right. I better make sure I turn that chair back into a table soon!"

That being said, whether or not Yao succeeds, I gain from this transaction. If unification works out, then I'm a princess' good friend. If he fails, then I can add 'inspired the mainstream teaching of Xingese Alkahestry' to my resume. Well… actually, I get the latter in either scenario. A big, fat, successful resume helps out when it comes to getting a job. Even if I fail the test, I'll have a very good backup plan. I could become an Alkahestry instructor to pay the bills while I prepare for the test next year. Hah! Ah, the seemingly endless possibilities of youth.

After lunch, it was business as usual. I went to my room to review my alchemy materials for the exam in a few days, while May did some housework before going back to her own training. Around dinner time, I spotted her looking over a flyer for Central University while she cooked up wontons. Looks like she took my suggestion more to heart than she had let on. Good.

I dragged _that chair_ back into my room as the sun went down, setting it by the window. As much as I'd want it to rot out in the open, May wanted it protected. After all, it's become something of my training dummy. That little chore done, I sat down at my desk and began practicing my craft. The night went on. I would perform basic transmutations on a small block of marble that I'd bought from a nearby hobby shop. Then I'd work on more complex processes involving solids, liquids, and gases. It would culminate in spending the second half of my evening session practicing my specialization, the trump card I believed would revolutionize the Amestrian military and give me that coveted silver pocket watch in a few days.

Then I'd finish up with some reviews of my studies before I finally threw in the towel, so to speak. With the details of Flamel's 59th Hieroglyphic Figure growing blurry and incomprehensible, I shut my book and looked up at the wall clock to see it was almost eleven. No wonder it had felt like so much had happened. I'd been at this for nearly five hours. That might not seem like a lot to most adults, but when you're below a certain age, time seems to move slower, because your heart beats twice as fast as that of an adult. This is why flies are so hard to hit: their hearts beat so fast that time is a trickle to them. Your 'fast' hand is but a slow moving wall of flesh. In human terms, this would of course lead you to having generally better raw reflexes than when you're grown up. This is also why children can be seen as so impatient: it's because the world is so slow to them.

That said, I was experiencing a different problem with being in a prepubescent body: it still needs a ton of sleep. At this age, I'm recommended to have nine to eleven hours, or else I can't function at peak efficiency. You could say I need to maximize my waking hours before anything else. Sure, my superior perception of time helps balance it out, but I can't bank on that to carry me forever. After all, I'll eventually grow up. Might as well make the most of this second childhood.

And so, this hefty concern on my mind, I dragged myself into bed and blew out my lamp…

"I see that even after nine years, you haven't changed at all, my poor lost child."

Who? What?

"Yes, you aren't dreaming. I am here."

I shot out of bed, sitting up straight with my eyes wide open as I scanned the room. That voice. There was no mistaking it. It could only have been _him_. The giveaway was the fact that it sounded exactly like that talking pigeon from the train station. But what was that bastard using as a mouthpiece this time?

"A little to the left."

Instinctively, I followed his directions. My eyes immediately fell upon it. _That chair_. _That chair_ that I'd accidentally transmuted into a hideous abomination, with the strange ball full of holes that vaguely resembled a face. Well, those holes were now glowing. He really was here. My eyes narrowed. "Being X."

"And you still refuse to acknowledge who I am." As he spoke, the lights on the 'face' flickered to match his words, almost like a visual soundwave effect.

"No shit." I rolled my eyes. "What you did proves nothing. I can take an animal from its natural habitat and transfer it to a new one, and that wouldn't give me the right to be worshipped by animals. This is just a higher form of abduction."

"You lack all your modern conveniences, and yet you continue to wallow in your unbelief." He continued. "Whatever happened to what you said?"

"You're taking _my_ word for it now?" Oh, wow, that was rich. I got up and approached _that chair_ , eyes focused entirely on it, and its occupant. "You really don't get it, do you? When I say modern science and conveniences raise doubts about the divine, that doesn't necessarily mean the opposite would encourage it. It's not a binary choice. There isn't any excluded middle to this. If anything, suffering makes things worse for your case." Now that I was in less precarious circumstances and could think more clearly, I could better lay down my arguments. "There are two types of atheists. Rationalists like me, who have arrived at our conclusion because of logic, reasoning, and evidence, and then there are people who have been traumatized into unbelief. Their side of the story is also logical, if more emotionally grounded – and thus abused into a stereotype. How could there be an all-loving, almighty God who rules the universe when so many terrible things are happening all around us? If he is all loving, then he won't _want_ bad things to happen to his children. If he is almighty, then he won't _allow_ these bad things to happen. But since they happen, then it is ultimately reasonable to assume that there is no God."

"So now you're saying that suffering causes doubt." Being X paused, as if to think. For such a powerful entity, he didn't seem to have a lot of common sense, did he? "Sounds to me like you're trying to have your cake and eat it too."

"That's just how the universe works. The odds are stacked in the favor of unbelief because there is no God to believe in anyway." I've always pegged him as some sort of post-physical alien entity, which at least makes some degree of sense. "Would you like me to cite examples from personal experience? The orphanage never had nice things, like refrigerators, leading one of the administrators to cuss God out. Oh, and if there is a God, he's probably evil to let all this stuff happen. In fact, he probably loves suffering. Why else would radical fundamentalist lunatics from Lior bomb a government building a block away from the orphanage, in the name of 'Leto'? That's one of your names in this world, right?"

"No, Leto is a false god constructed by Cornello's Cult." Well, that sounded blunt and matter of fact.

"False gods, true gods, there isn't a difference to me. There is no God. You might as well be the same thing as Cthulhu."

"Trust me on this. I play games with Cthulhu on Saturdays. We're nothing alike."

I can't tell if that was a serious statement, or if he was making fun of me. "That you claim to hang out with Cthulhu only better proves my point. You're not God. You're just some far more advanced being that's millions, probably billions, of years ahead of human technology. You evolved first. And if human technology can progress from horse carriages to space shuttles in a span of five centuries after discovering science, then a race that has a million-year head start could easily do things comparable to miracles. Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, after all." I smirked. "They could probably even create their own little pocket universes, like this one I'm in right now." And when even miracles can be replicated, then there is no more room to argue for God.

"So if I perform a miracle that can't possibly be misconstrued as advanced technology in action, then you will believe?"

"Wait what?" Oh no. Here he goes again. Jumping to a hasty conclusion based on some flimsy premise that doesn't necessarily undermine my arguments. How am I supposed to tell the difference between a miracle and advanced technology anyway? Clarke's Third Law is clear! You can't tell them apart! "I never said that!"

My words fell on deaf ears. Or well, _that chair_ didn't really have ears, so that statement was strictly metaphorical.

"Then I shall bless you with an unmistakable miracle!" _That chair_ began to glow brighter. "Rejoice, young girl!" Something was happening. Whatever it was, I didn't like it.

This had to stop. I picked up _that chair_ and bashed it against the floor. It exploded in a blinding flash of light.

My eyes opened. The cuckoo clock was ringing. Sunlight was starting to peek in through the window. It was five thirty.

I sat up in bed, and looked around the room. It wasn't technically a guest room. Alphonse said that his brother would use this room whenever he would stay in Central, so it was full of books and other alchemic paraphernalia. He did mention they were both really into alchemy. I never actually got this brother's name – why should I? – but I did spot a color photo of the two of them when they were younger, proudly holding up a prized fish catch of some sort. He had the goofiest smile. Alphonse was, as expected, more subdued.

I turned to look in the direction of the window, expecting to see _that chair_ in pieces. Instead, I saw a familiar oak table. So I definitely wasn't dreaming. Being X came for a visit last night. There was a sheet of paper sitting on it. What was this, his calling card? I stood up and slowly walked over, flipping the sheet around… "Deus… lo vult?" Oh come on. He goes on a bombastic speech about giving me a miracle, and all he does is reverse the transmutation on _that chair_ then leave a dumb message on it?

Either he has a lame sense of humor, or he really is that dumb. I crumpled the sheet and tossed it away. There was no time to fuss over Being X's trolling. I had to continue my training.

 _EXAMINATION ROOM, CENTRAL COMMAND, 16 APRIL, 1917_

The last few days until the exam went by uneventfully. May found out about the table and scolded me, assuming that I'd used alchemy to change it back. Well, doing so out of frustration was a far more sensible explanation than saying 'Being X did it!' It would be the equivalent of saying a dog ate my homework. So I just ran with that. If anything else, it was part and parcel of the expectations one would have of an immature little girl, and should have been completely excusable. Which she did. In fact, she even thanked me for my 'honesty'! Hah!

And then she turned it back into a chair. I was of course, going to have to succeed with Alkahestry by first doing it 'fairly'. No question about that.

But today was different. Today, I was walking down esteemed marble hallways in order to take the alchemy exam. Finally, after six long years of hard preparation, I would have the chance to show everyone that I could contribute to the nation! And then, I would be granted that delicious State Alchemist grant.

The questions and problems for the written portion were university-level. Some were even particularly tricky, skirting the line between alchemy and law when they implicitly brought up the question of whether or not it was legal to transmute gold into some other element.

'Roy's girlfriend wants a lead wall to shield herself from an upcoming radiation experiment. Roy has 200 kg of gold to work with. How much gold must he transmute into lead to produce a 2x2x0.07 meter lead wall?' There is of course the question of density. More importantly, there was a hidden question: if turning lead into gold is illegal, is the inverse also illegal, or is it possible for Roy to do this without getting thrown in jail?

If you wanted to go into technicalities, it was technically legal. But if you went by the semantics, you would find that it was undesirable. Just because it's technically legal doesn't mean it's beneficial. While transmuting lots of lead into gold would flood the market and cause severe inflation that would destroy the economy, taking gold _out_ of the market would cause deflation. Which would result in currency hoarding. Which would force prices to go down with the decreased demand… it would reach a point where production will also slow down immensely, resulting in a weak economy. This would lead to mass layoffs as employers try to cut costs. People lose jobs not because of personal inefficiency, but because of bad handling of the market. This is a waste of otherwise productive human resources.

Therefore, the correct answer would be that Roy shouldn't transmute his gold in the first place. Instead, he should convert it into cash, and use it to buy some other material that he can transmute into a lead wall for his girlfriend.

There were a couple of others, but overall, the written portion was a breeze. Now, I was on my way to take the practical exam, where I would show all the higher-ups how helpful I could be.

I stopped at a pair of gigantic granite double doors and waited for the two guards to push them open. With a nod, I went on in. It was a large chamber, with a balcony running along either side. As I approached the end of the hallway, I paid attention to three individuals in uniform standing at the center stage. On the right was a man with short black hair and a pretty bushy mustache. The golden shoulder boards and three stars indicated the rank of a full general. I knew it was going to be something like this, of course. Only one or two made it each year. That meant they needed top brass to evaluate any potential State Alchemists.

Somehow, I couldn't help but feel that the expression on his face was one of complete boredom…

At the center was a balding old man with white hair, an even bushier mustache, and rounded spectacles that concealed his eyes behind a glare that shouldn't be there. The electrical lamps here weren't strong enough to cause that sort of reflection, and there were no windows in this room. So where did the glare come from? His more formal attire, golden shoulder boards and _four_ stars told me all I needed to know. He was the Führer. The CEO. The President. The man in charge. Above all else, I should impress this fellow.

I couldn't read the stoic look on his face. If this guy played poker, that would be an excellent asset to his strategy.

And on the left, also in the signature blue State military uniform, was a young man with short blonde hair, golden eyes, and the kindest smile. Wait. What?

"Ah, glad to see you all confident and ready for your turn, Tanya!" And the voice of a young woman.

No. No, this couldn't be right. How did I not see this coming? "A… Alphonse?" I struggled to keep my utter confusion from spilling out onto my face. Keep it cool. Keep it cool. "Y… you're a judge?" So _this_ was why he was busy the past week? He wasn't preparing to take the exam… He was preparing to _judge_ it?

"You didn't know?" Asked the dark haired general, now smirking. "You stayed with him for a month, right?"

"Well… yes, but…" But he minimized contact with me! I wasn't able to learn anything new about him at all!

"Then I guess he did a really good job of keeping work and home apart." The general's voice was playful, almost mocking. Alphonse could only give me an embarrassed smile as the general gestured towards him and opened his mouth again, "So, let's make this official, shall we? Tanya Degurechaff, meet Lt. Colonel Alphonse Elric, the Iron Heart Alchemist."

To be continued…

* * *

 **AN** : WAAAAH! CLIFFHANGER! So the hard part here was the pacing. I had to do three scenes, and had only so many words to do them. But for the most part, I'd like to think it was worth it. As for how Alkahestry works in this story, there's nothing in canon material about visualization. All I could get was that it was better at medical applications because chi is apparently a healing force when used properly. Or… something. Everything else, I sort of just thought up.

I picked 'Iron Heart' as Al's title because it sounded right. He's a tough kid, after all. Though as it turns out, it's been used as the title of a Naruto Crossover. Also used as the title of some fanart someone did of Al. Props to you guys for using it too.

Oh, and of course, 'Siege Perilous' is Latin for 'perilous seat'. I guess that means that to besiege a city is to surround it and sit down until it surrenders? Yeah, that sounds pretty accurate. It's also a reference to… well, you could probably find out by googling it.

Anyhoo, feedback and reviews are much appreciated! Thanks!


	6. V: Deus lo Vult

**AN** : So the past few months have been pretty hectic. I went back to school, got a new job, and got a rather unpleasant medical condition. This chapter was actually completed in Draft form since mid-September, but life got in the way. Coming back to it, I also had to do some editing. So yeah… I'm finally done.

* * *

 **Heika** : I'm really sorry about that. I'm not sure why you haven't received anything from me. I've PM'd you with my earlier response as soon as I got your first review. Is there a problem with your notifications? I'll send another PM your way. As for your latest concerns, you've got a big point there. It's not like Tanya has access to Wikipedia to find out if Al's fridge looks like the original Kelvinator.

Your comment on the problem of evil actually got me to reread what I'd written. As it turns out, I messed up the argument by forgetting to qualify it as 'natural' evil. Accidents, bad weather, animal carnivory, disease, so-called 'acts of god'… things that aren't dependent on human agency. This, I think, is a tougher nut to crack.

Thanks again for giving me your full and honest opinion. Every bit helps me improve my writing. :3

* * *

 **Disclaimer** : Youjo Senki is the property of Being X. I don't own it. Please don't reincarnate me into a world of war and suffering.

* * *

 **V. DEUS LO VULT**

"… Elric?" Alphonse Elric? His last name is Elric? "So then your brother…"

"Is Edward Elric, yup!" Alphonse answered with a smile.

So basically, I've been staying with Edward Elric's brother this whole time. Edward Elric's brother is also a State Alchemist. Edward Elric's brother is _also_ a pedophile who likes watching underage girls get sweaty every morning from practicing martial arts. You can't make stuff like this up, folks. I mean, I never expected them to be 'saints', for lack of a better word, but this just paints a completely different picture of everything.

Wait, if Edward Elric is his brother… then I have been studying and sleeping in Edward Elric's room… This. Whole. Time. Are you fucking kidding me? Then all those books he's got? Those are the ones that Edward Elric deems worthy of keeping in his room. I've been sitting on a gold mine of alchemic knowledge for over a month now without knowing it!

"But… why didn't you tell me?" It wasn't like I felt betrayed. Not at all. If anything, I'm just shocked at this massive oversight that I made. I never bothered to ask for his last name. I would frequently talk about how I was inspired by a man who turned out to be his brother to become a State Alchemist early. I even recall, distinctly, at one point, bragging about how I was going to beat his record. Yes. That was probably it. What I said must have scared the subdued Alphonse, or maybe triggered him in a way, so that he decided to omit this very important detail.

People like him were like that. They didn't like conflict, or arguing with people, or being pushed in directions they didn't like. After seeing me so cocksure of myself, he probably figured I'd keep pressuring him to talk about his brother if I found out – and I would have, honestly. So he just smiled and nodded and changed the subject altogether.

"If I told you, then you probably wouldn't have pursued your own path," Alphonse went on. "I can tell you're a big fan of his. It wasn't hard to imagine you'd latch onto every word I said if I told you who I was, or maybe go through all of his books and notes, instead of figuring things out for yourself. An alchemist learns from others, yes. But ultimately, they have to find their own way through the world, make their own decisions. That's part of what it takes to be a State Alchemist. Each title is unique, because each State Alchemist does something that is unique to them."

Such a mentor-like mentality. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was some kind of self-help guru. I gave him a deep bow, the falsified respect exuded by a talented amateur whose methods, while creative and even somewhat complex, were nevertheless completely figured out. "Well yes. I guess I made that pretty obvious, huh… I never thought of it that way, Alphonse. Thank you for being so considerate."

Of course, I wasn't _really_ figured out. I understood that principle very well. Only a lovestruck fangirl would do something so thoughtless as to completely ape Edward Elric's alchemy. Edward Elric was my inspiration, yes. But I knew enough that I would be better off doing my own thing rather than trying to be Fullmetal Alchemist 2.0. Now, on the other hand, only a self-absorbed idiot would ignore a treasure trove like all of Edward Elric's books and notes. What kind of adventures did he have? What breakthroughs did he learn? What was his ultimate goal as a State Alchemist? Was he able to accomplish it? How can I incorporate this goal into my own plans, if possible? So many questions, and I can only use the answers at all if I pass this test!

"Alright, then!" The Führer spoke up. "Now that this little surprise is over, let's get to the meat of this examination. We have twenty more candidates to screen today."

"Oh, of course, Your Excellency!" Alphonse nodded and stood back to attention.

"This'll be good," the dark haired general muttered to himself with a smirk.

"Tanya Degurechaff," the Führer adjusted his glasses and looked me straight in the eye, that glare piercing into my very essence. "Show us your alchemic skills, and demonstrate why you believe you deserve to join the esteemed college of the State Alchemists."

"At once, Your Excellency!" I gave the Führer a waist-deep bow. This was it. The big moment. My time in the sun, and my chance to prove myself as an alchemist who could serve the state (while getting paid handsomely for it, of course)!

Regaining my composure, I slipped my hands into my jacket pockets and pulled out a pair of gloves – gloves marked with my circles, naturally. Already, I could see Alphonse's eyes glued to the images I'd stitched into the handwear, no doubt analyzing and breaking down the component symbols. That was fine. Let him get a vague idea of what I was going to do. Taking my time, and playing it just as I've rehearsed every night for so long, I snapped the gloves on and clapped my hands together.

A silent buzz began to ring in the back of my mind, confirming the establishment of a circuit. Soon, the air began to move about me as light blue alchemic light surged from my connected palms. As the sound of rushing air grew stronger, I stretched my arms out to either side, keeping my eyes on the judges as I slowly rose above the floor.

"What do you make of that, Iron Heart?" the Führer asked, as he put his hand to his chin and stroked it in thought.

"Parallel transmutation, Your Excellency," Alphonse answered. He went on in some detail. "She's transmuted the immediately surrounding air into a helium bubble, while generating an air current to give herself lift. From the way her arms are spread out, she might even have wings made of super dense air atoms like xenon. Breathing could be maintained by creating a virtual airflow tube connecting her nose and mouth to the outside of the bubble."

So, he managed to figure all that out just by examining all of the different air and elemental symbols stitched into my gloves, and observing me for a few seconds. I suppose it shouldn't have been so surprising. Alphonse had already demonstrated encyclopedic knowledge of the alchemic arts, as well as a sharp eye and mind. That he managed to understand my alchemy in his first round of speculation should be a given. And yet, I couldn't help but feel disappointed that I didn't stump him, not even for a minute.

"She's still floating," the dark haired general noted, either feigning interest, or perhaps genuinely impressed. "I gotta say, that's probably a new record for alchemic runtimes. You could almost say that her transmutation is… continuous."

That general isn't just a big fancy mustache either, it seems. At the very least, he knows enough about transmutation runtime statistics to make an informed statement comparing mine to the average length. Yes, that's right. I'm not just running multiple transmutations in parallel. I'm also performing continuous transmutation. And why not? The first law of alchemy is equivalent exchange. As long as there's air to transmute into currents, then you can bet I'll keep on transmuting it into currents!

"I wonder about the energy efficiency of this though…" Alphonse mused out loud.

You don't need to worry about that. Even in the modern world, mankind has only tapped 6.5 percent of the planet's estimated geothermal potential, and it's already cranking out just under 13 gigawatts: enough to power 3.9 million average homes a month. In short… I can keep floating up here for as long as I damn want to!

I rose higher. First, until I was level with the second story balcony, and then, until I was able to reach out and touch the ceiling. But the show wasn't over yet. I smirked as I tilted forward into a dive, swooping down and then picking up enough velocity to fly back up. I glided about the room, doing everything from loops to barrel rolls. If this didn't impress them, then I didn't know what would.

"You wouldn't be able to move so freely in an enclosed space like this using a Milosian Combat Glider," Alphonse pointed out, almost as if he was just thinking aloud. "Your wings would get caught in something or another, no matter how good you were at gliding."

"Yeah, a Black Bat wouldn't be able to fly around in here," the dark haired general added. "They'd need to jump from the balcony to get some lift into their gliders, but even then..."

"So you two are telling me that this could be far more useful than just building a dedicated combat glider unit?" The Führer asked, turning to face his two co-panelists.

"Combat Gliders, especially the Milosian Black Bat model, are best used in open spaces," the dark haired general went on. "That, and all you need is a lucky shot to puncture the glider wings. After that, it's bye bye birdie."

"But how can we be sure that shooting through her theoretical, invisible wings won't do the same thing?" The Führer pushed his glasses up his nose in thought, reflecting the general's face in them. "Any suggestions, General?"

"I've got one, but it's pretty crazy."

What were they talking about down there? The next thing I heard after performing another barrel roll was the general's voice.

"Hey, Degurechaff!" he called out.

I stopped and resumed my initial floating position. "Yes, Sir?"

"Float still, would you?"

My eyebrow went up as I nevertheless conceded to this strange request. Soon, things became clear, as he drew a handgun from a holster in his jacket. What was this? No, no. This was somehow part of the test. It had to be. Why would they kill me for such a great performance, right? This kind of alchemy was exactly what they needed!

"I usually let other people do this for me since my aim is terrible, but I don't wanna bother the guards outside," he raised the pistol – with one hand, which was a very amateurish, Hollywood way of holding a gun, I might add – up to my level, aiming it at… somewhere below my arm? What was he trying to do? That being said, his admission to terrible aim was by no means anywhere close to encouraging. "So just float still, and you'll probably make it out of this alive."

He expected me to be a sitting duck and let him shoot me. No, this was also part of the test. It was a test of courage. Or something. Maybe it was loaded with blanks. Maybe he was just pulling my leg at having terrible aim. Maybe he was up to something else… I took a deep breath and held my head up high, 'standing' straight up with my arms spread out as the general pulled the trigger.

The report of a live round rang through the air, and my heart skipped a beat as I checked myself mentally for any signs that I'd been hit and was now bleeding to death. Did it feel cold? No. Did I feel lightheaded? No. I looked myself over. Was I bleeding anywhere…?

"Well, it looks like her invisible wings aren't as flimsy as a glider's," the general announced, with a sense of playful finality. "Mystery solved!"

I breathed a sigh of relief as I determined, for sure, that I wasn't fatally shot. Or shot at all, really. Subconsciously, I floated back up to the ceiling, stopping just as it touched the top of that rogue lock of hair that always seemed to have a life of its own.

"I think it wouldn't be wrong to say that this demonstration speaks for itself," the Führer said. "Tanya Degurechaff, you may cease transmutation."

So… that was it? Well, at least all I had to do was fly around like a bird in a cage for a few minutes and let some crazy general shoot me. At the very least, they could see my alchemy was worth investing in, if the general's comparison to a glider's wings was any indication. Presumably, they wanted to see if shooting my xenon wings full of holes would reduce their performance, or even worse, cause me to lose control. But no. I already factored a regeneration rate into my continuous transmutation. It doesn't take a lot of energy to put air back together, you know.

There was no flaw in my methodology. It was perfect…

And that was when I started to fall.

"What the hell!" How did this happen? I went over every calculation daily. Practiced the application of the process nightly. I memorized my formulas, mastered my visualizations, and took everything to heart! How was I experiencing a rebound right now? How was I now falling to my death from a two story height? How?!

"It is because of your mountainous pride that you fall so monumentally, my child."

My eyes widened as my fall stopped. I didn't land on anything. I didn't resume floating in midair either. No. Everything just stopped. My breathing, the three people down on the stage. The very flow of the air current itself. Motion had become irrelevant. Time stood still. This was just like that moment, nine years ago. That frozen split second that redefined my entire new life. Just before a train killed me. "Being X."

"Perhaps if you did not so quickly judge the nature of this room, then you would be able to see past your own ego and realize your mistake."

"There was no mistake." Of all the times to get screwed over by Being X, it just had to be now. _Why_ did it have to be now? No, of course. That letter he sent me last night. It wasn't some signature to let me know he fixed _that chair_. It was a message, a notification that he was going to be interfering more directly in my life. " _You_ did this, didn't you? You somehow caused a rebound!"

"Look around, my child. What do you see?"

So, what, was he going to point out my mistake now? What was there to see, anyway? It was a fully enclosed room. I made use of the formulas for a fully isolated system with still air. Balcony on the second story. Elevated stone stage in front. Lamps everywhere. One pair of granite double doors at the back. No windows. And in the corner, to the far left of the stage, there was…. No. No, no, no, this couldn't have been right. There was a smaller, more normal door behind the column to the left of the stage. It was wide open. A soldier stood frozen in the middle of walking into the room. "I…"

"I did not engineer your downfall. This predicament was one born from your own pride and carelessness."

"So I made a mistake!" I yelled. "There's still time. I can just clap my hands, perform the proper adjustments, and I'll have a safe, happy landing!"

"I don't think that is possible," Being X answered, pompously regal as always. "Look again."

"At what?"

"At your proposed solution." I looked about. Left, right… I checked my hands. And that was when I saw it. The large gash of torn white cloth that was once the palm of my left glove. The general didn't hit me, no. But it was close enough. His stray bullet didn't even graze my palm, but it flew so close that it destroyed the symbols I had stitched into the cloth.

I'd designed my airborne formulas in a way that the transmutation would continue processing until I performed a specific gesture. That way, it would keep running even if my gloves were damaged. Major formulaic corrections still required forming a new circuit, however. As such, with my left glove destroyed, that was no longer possible. Everyone was too busy discussing my current status, or paying attention to the soldier who'd just come in the door.

By the time anyone would notice, I would be a bloody smear on the cold floor.

I was going to fall to my death.

"You planned this all out, didn't you?" I yelled. "The 'stray' bullet that somehow didn't hurt me despite shredding my glove. The 'timing' of the door! You sneaky…"

"There is a way, my child. I have blessed your hands with the power to perform my miracles."

"Miracles? What are you talking about?" Was this some kind of joke? He was still going on about what happened last night?

"You are now permitted to utilize alchemy without transmutation circles, by forming an internal circuit with your bare hands. Whenever you are to use this gift, you must pray to God, before it can be granted to you."

"So the same trick that Alphonse does. I'm pretty sure he found some other way to do it, since he didn't have to pray to a phony god like you." Besides. In case something like this happens again, I'll just make sure to wear gloves made of _Kevlar_ … as soon as someone invents it, at any rate. Note to self: get someone to invent Kevlar.

"But there won't be a next time unless you do it the first time, wouldn't you say?" Dammit. Now Being X was reading my mind again. "In addition to this, your blessed transmutations will be exempt from the Law of Equivalent Exchange."

"… like the Philosopher's Stone?" That bastard. He's sweetening the deal. Not that I don't have the discipline to avoid falling for an obviously Faustian ploy, but right now, I don't really have a choice if I want to live. "So what's the catch?"

"With each such act of reverence, your faith in me shall grow in strength and volume."

"You son of a bitch! You're gonna brainwash me into some kind of religious bot now? I guess I shouldn't be surprised you'd stoop so low to get what you want." I smirked. At least I still stood on some semblance of a moral high ground.

"Go forth and bring glory to my name. Show the world that God wills it."

His voice faded out.

Things began to move again. Slowly… much more slowly than they normally would. The soldier seemed to take at least ten seconds to raise his boot off the floor. The air currents were as sluggish as a bowl of disgusting gruel from the orphanage. I was being given time to pray. How considerate. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. The back of my head buzzed in rage at being cheated like this. I parted my lips and whispered through gritted teeth. "The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. I thank you for your boundless mercy in giving me this second chance… This moment, I surrender my life into your hands… Deus lo vult."

I clapped my hands.

The last thing I felt was a surge of indescribable power. The last thing I saw was a flash of golden light.

~O~O~O~

Corporal Dobbs stepped into the office, carrying the stack of papers. "Here are the last of the unused test questionnaires, General," he announced his arrival, deftly avoiding the other desks in the office, belonging to the dark haired general's subordinates.

The man himself sat at the desk in front of the large glass windows, a look of boredom on his face covered only by his large, bushy mustache as he yawned. "Leave them in the inbox," he ordered, not really paying all that much attention to, well, anything.

"Yes, Sir!" Dobbs proceeded to do as ordered, setting the stack of test sheets down in the open inbox.

He still had twenty-one applicants to screen today. The next one was due in another ten minutes. Some little girl that Iron Heart said he was taking care of, and might have had some potential. He'd already gone over her written exam and her scores were perfect. Not just perfect, actually. Some of her answers took into account things that the test examiners didn't even conceive of.

Was she really just a talented little girl?

The general looked up to see Dobbs still standing to attention. "You're dismissed, Corporal."

"Sir!" Dobbs snapped to a salute and marched out of the office, closing the door behind him.

Well, he would have to find out for himself soon enough. The dark haired general stood up and opened the windows wide. His office was a nice corner space, prime real estate for a nice breeze every now and then. Of course, a nice breeze had more uses than simply cooling off, especially when the wind was pointing in the opposite direction.

He slipped the top questionnaire out onto his desk, tracing the item numbers downward as he scrolled in search of a particular question… number 42.

"Roy's girlfriend wants a lead wall to shield herself from an upcoming radiation experiment," the general muttered to himself, still in his bored monotone. "Roy has 200 kg of gold to work with. How much gold must he transmute into lead to produce a 2x2x0.07 meter lead wall?" So this was the item in question.

The general picked up the girl's answer sheet and went over it again. Instead of a straightforward answer – which admittedly, was what the examiners had in mind when they wrote this question – she instead elaborated on how widespread practice and application of this scenario could result in terrible economic consequences. "Is she an alchemist, or an economist?" He shook his head. It was technically correct. It was this sort of out of the box thinking that the state needed. Still… an alchemist with an economic mind. What repercussions would this have should she be chosen?

All of this being said, having such a forward-thinking alchemist as part of the program was good.

"There's just one problem…"

The general sighed deeply in exasperation and began to shred the questionnaire in a sudden blind rage, each tearing of paper punctuated by an angry grunt before he finally threw the sheet out the window. The pieces scattered to the winds like confetti. A soldier passing by on the ground floor briefly wondered if those superiors hogging that office upstairs were throwing some sort of party.

"Roy's girlfriend is _**not**_ an alchemist!" He yelled out the window as a flock of birds flew past, as if to mock him. While there might have been some Roy out there who had an alchemist girlfriend, it was far more likely that the examiners were using names that were familiar to them. Muttering his grievances about this heinous gag hidden in plain sight, the general picked up the rest of the questionnaires from the inbox, stuffed them into the trash bin, and set it up on the window sill.

Opening up his desk's top drawer, he pulled out a pair of white gloves, slipped one on his right hand, aimed it at the trash bin and snapped his fingers. The stack of papers caught fire with a crimson bolt that flashed like lightning.

That was when the wind picked up… and blew inward.

A fistful of papery embers flew into the office when they would have just wafted gently outside, catching the general unawares. Two seconds later, he was wiping soot off his face in annoyance as the wind changed directions and took the burnt sheets outside, where they should have been going in the first place.

This really wasn't his day.

Checking a mirror to make sure his countenance was indeed completely clean, he poured a glass of water over the trash bin to extinguish the remaining flames. That was another mess all cleaned up. The dark haired general put the gloves away, stood up, and headed for the demonstration room.

There were more important things to deal with right now. He would see Iron Heart's little friend himself. If her transmutations were as impressive as her out of the box thinking, then she might just be this year's State Alchemist.

To be continued…

* * *

 **AN:** So here we are, at the end of another chapter. Originally it was supposed to include one more scene, which I'd already written down, but I didn't want to end up with it going on for too long. It tends to be a problem with my stories. They suffer from chapter bloat. As the story goes on, the chapters get bigger and bigger and I end up burning myself out. I think a good point to stop is around 4-5k words. So… yeah, this'll have to do for now.

Hopefully the next one won't take so long. As usual, feel free to leave your comments and feedback, as I'll be gobbling it up. Thanks for reading! :D


	7. VI: Southern Itinerary

**AN:** After going over some more research, and starting to rewatch Brotherhood while working out in the mornings, I realized that I had to rewrite this chapter. Particularly the section about Ed's notes. Combined with how heavy IRL has been, it's harshly affected my posting schedule. Slowly working my way back, though. Let's see how fast I can post the next one.

There have been concerns regarding the 'terms' of Tanya's 'contract' with Being X, but I'd like to assure you that I've thought it over. With regards to the 'brainwashing' part, it's simply something I picked up from the manga version. Looking over the episode in question again, he also actually says something akin to that. I think that particular part was just not very well explored in the anime, which is why it isn't really noticed. Of course I might just execute it differently…

Alright, here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** I own neither Youjo Senki nor FMA. They are the property of Being X (literally, just look at the author's pen name) and Hiromu Arakawa respectively.

* * *

 **VI. SOUTHERN ITINERARY  
**

When I finally came to, my eyes blurrily opened, and the first thing I saw was Alphonse smiling down at me while vigorously shaking my right hand. In the distance, the Führer and dark haired general walked out of the door.

"I don't know how you pulled that off, Tanya, but that was _amazing_!"

"What?"

"Don't be so modest," the State Alchemist said as he finally stopped, and put a hand on my back before guiding me towards the back door to follow his superiors. "It takes an incredible amount of talent to go into a freefall and then stop yourself two inches from the ground without breaking your neck from whiplash. Honestly, that last transmutation you did was…" He paused to think about his next words. "I don't think I could have calculated a maneuver like that."

As my senses slowly came back to me and my daze began to wear off, I hurriedly slipped my torn left glove off my hand and tucked it back into my pocket. I didn't need Alphonse asking me how I was able to perform a transmutation without a circle just now. As far as I could tell, he didn't even notice it yet, which was good. I faked a smile. "Well, I told you I've been practicing all those years for it." We walked down the hall.

"Kind of odd that your flash was a different color, though," He thought out loud, rubbing his chin with his free hand. Crap. So I really did just pray, and he did see something different. At least he didn't _hear_ me. Probably because Being X slowed down time while he struck his 'deal' with me. For a moment, I imagined how that would look like from an outsider's perspective. A brief scene ran through my head of Alphonse watching as my voice went off like a chipmunk on a fast forwarded video. My best guess is he assumed it was a special 'incantation' of sorts… which nobody really does. This is a science, not magic.

Fortunately, whatever it was he saw, he quickly rationalized it away once he realized what he'd just said. "Well, nothing wrong with learning more than one style. It's probably something you keep for your higher end stuff, right?"

I shook my head, more to get rid of the last of the daze than anything else. "Something like that," I muttered, attempting to affirm his assumption. Better to feed his incorrect ideas than to get myself in trouble. Amestris has a really bad history with religious types. Between yesteryear's Ishval War and the more recent goings on in Lior, religion has caused far more problems than it has purported to solve. If Being X had intended to improve my opinion of religion, it wasn't working. "More importantly, how did I do?"

"We'll have your results in by tonight," he said as we exited the main doors of Central Command and walked down the stairs leading to the cobblestone city streets. The Führer and the general had disappeared from view, and I assumed they were simply getting to work on the results. "So far, your demonstration has been the most impressive, but don't count your chicks just yet. There are twenty more. Just wait until I get home, alright?"

"Sure, I can do that." I nodded as Alphonse turned around to head back inside.

"Alright, then! You can take the rest of the day off," he answered with a smile. "I think you've earned it." With that, he went back up the stairs and disappeared into the doors.

That left me looking around town, still trying to get my bearings. The sun hadn't even hit noon yet, which left me with a whole day to do… well… anything, really. I was in a limbo. There were twenty more alchemists lined up to take the practical exam. What were the odds that I would be better than all of them? Well, I was better than eighty already, given what Alphonse said, so I was at the very least above the majority of examinees. But 'very good' didn't cut it. I had to be the best.

I decided to follow through on my backup plan and take a trip to Central University, see if there was anything about teaching Xingese Alkahestry there. I didn't have a formal education, so as one might imagine of the leading State University, that would be something of a problem. If there were any acceleration exams, however, I could skip completely over elementary, junior high, and high school altogether. I didn't get multiple degrees back in modern Japan for nothing!

As it turned out, Central University was indeed starting to open up with regards to Xingese-Amestrian exchanges. Apparently, one General Mustang – commanding General of East Command – was in charge of improving the relations between Amestris and Xing, and he was sponsoring a program to fast track the transition from near-zero contact, to a much higher rate of exposure. Based on the pamphlets they were handing out, this program included hiring Alkahestrists from Xing to join the faculty and facilitate training for a new 'Alkahestry 101' course. Well… looks like someone else already thought ahead of me in terms of bringing Alkahestry to the public spotlight.

That being said, while I can no longer claim the title of Innovator for bringing Alkahestry to Amestris, I can at least be an Early Adopter, who takes on Alkahestry and teaches it here, once I've proven my credentials, anyway… And of course, completed my Alkahestric training.

In retrospect, it might take longer to qualify for an Alkahestry teaching position, as opposed to simply passing the State Alchemy exam. On the other hand, I could instead just file for teaching my particular brand of alchemy. I'm certainly far more proficient at flying than using Alkahestry. I could simply add a combined process as part of my course. Throw a kunai at a chair and make it fly! That didn't really sound like it had any practical applications at the moment, but I'm sure I'll be able to come up with something given enough time.

By the time I got back to the apartment, it was sunset. May was in the middle of cooking noodles, and Xiao Mei was… also cooking noodles. That bear really was quite the doppelganger. After a quick dinner, and light conversation – where I explained that I was at least better than 80 percent of the participants, yay personal pride! – I retired to my room, and began to go through Edward Elric's books.

It's important to note that alchemists have a rather… quirky tradition. This particularly concerned alchemists who have reached a relatively high level of capability, beyond all the stuff you might find in a university-level class: Their personal notes are encoded in some way or another. Cookbooks were the most popular guise, likely because on the one hand, a book full of recipes is extremely mundane. Who would think to look in the kitchen, right? On the other hand, in the format of recipes, notes can be rather conveniently organized. So why do so? Well… alchemy in the hands of a specialist can be extremely destructive. Just ask those poor saps in Ishval. It's only natural to want to keep such power closely guarded.

Anyone with a personal lab or workshop was bound to keep his own notes in this coded form. Especially State Alchemists. What better way to conceal state secrets than hiding them in plain sight? After the first few months of going through Tucker's library, full of these basic to advanced general knowledge references, I finally asked if I could take a look at his own notes.

At first I thought he was joking when he dropped a stack of cookbooks – with his name on them, mind you – in front of me. That was when he explained that those were most certainly his notes, albeit encrypted, and that this was most certainly an alchemist tradition.

It took me several more months, even with the occasional hint here and there, to finally crack all of his codes. As it turned out, he knew a _lot_ of things about bioalchemy. It was a gold mine. At the same time, I realized that I wouldn't be able to use all this if I were to become a State Alchemist. Because I needed my _own_ specialty. Nevertheless, it was an exercise worth having been done, as if I was going to get into the meat and potatoes of anybody's research, I would have to learn how to crack cookbook codes. Or well, codes in general.

You'd probably be wondering, why would alchemists continue this tradition, when recent years have introduced alchemy courses in secondary and tertiary schools? I'll let you in on another little open secret. High school alchemy books teach you the dry facts _about_ alchemy. They don't teach you _how_ to perform alchemy. This isn't a high school science class where you perform experiments and see the science at work. It's more of a history class.

They _tell_ you that it's the science of understanding matter, breaking it down, and reconstructing it in an entirely new form. They teach you _about_ the mysterious Philosopher of the East, who first introduced alchemy to the early Amestrians several hundred years ago. They teach you _about_ the never-ending pursuit of the legendary Philosopher's Stone. They teach you _about_ Flamel, who wrote a significant Codex used by many practitioners.

But guess what? They don't teach you how to apply _any_ of this. They don't go into the details of the principles that the Philosopher first taught. They don't tell you to buy copies of Flamel's Codex – it's not even available to the general public, only to alchemists and students of alchemy. They don't tell you _how_ to understand matter in an alchemic sense, break it down, and then reconstruct it as something new. And of course, I don't need to tell you that nobody has a Philosopher's Stone that they can just bring to show and tell. Well, there's a subsection explaining how several big names like Ostanes and Hermes Trismegistus attempted to come up with their own formulas, each independently developing a 'cheap counterfeit' called a Red Stone using a thick slurry of amplifying ingredients. But they don't tell you _what_ ingredients the Red Stones were made of, or how they combined them, either.

This is more or less a violation of the principle of 'show don't tell'.

That tween magazine _Alchemist Monthly_ only teaches party trick transmutations and writes interviews of fresh young faces, so it's definitely no practical help for a serious practitioner. Nothing but fluffy cloud inspiration for young hopefuls.

Now, at the university level, things get a bit more interesting. Alchemy 101 is a General Elective. There, they actually teach you the basics. _The basics_. But hey! After that, you're free to buy a copy of Flamel's Codex and various other references, as long as you show the bookstores your enrollment card. They don't actually teach you a lot, even though the textbooks are right there. You'd think they'd give it more effort, but no. They breeze through the content all semester, and the final exam is almost literally the same thing that May has been putting me through. Transmute X into Y. And then… that's it! You're done! University textbooks are the best, yes. But the teachers are some of the worst. Alchemy is hard enough to master _with effort_ , and these guys don't nearly put enough into it!

Now when I mentioned the State Alchemist test questions were 'university level', it was in the sense of these various references that instructors just glossed over. They weren't things that were taught. You had to read up on them with your barely touched references.

There _is_ no degree in alchemy. The pursuit of alchemy as a profession is still very much ingrained in the old mentality of master and apprentice due to the time and sweat it takes to learn it. If you decide that alchemy is for you, then you're not going to get it at university.

Doesn't matter that the basics are available to anyone who can afford the course. The specialist data is safely encrypted.

Now, maintaining the status quo of this poor standard of university-level alchemic education is just tragic. If the courses were more intensive, if someone _created_ a degree in professional Alchemy, even if it took longer than the four-year standard, then we would have _more_ alchemists, and thus _more_ influence on the rest of the world! Sure, it might be more prone to abuse, but the effects on the big picture far outweigh the cons, in my humble opinion.

No, I am not having a bout of megalomania. If Amestris had more alchemists, correctly viewed as extremely productive members of society? Think about it. Alchemic mass production! Amestris will become the world's leader in manufacturing. The economy will boom. And when the economy is good, my quality of life, so long as I find a proper place within this economy, will also be good.

Note to self: encourage the creation of an Alchemy degree in universities.

So here I was, looking at a stack of travelogues. Edward Elric's notes. It would only make sense that he would put them into this format. The great Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, was renowned for running all over the country and performing random acts of and kindness and occasional full blown heroism almost anywhere he landed.

A cookbook is more suited for someone who spends more time at home, cooped up in their lab. But to find a cookbook on someone who has no time to muck around in the kitchen? Someone who's always on the move? That would only raise suspicions.

In contrast, where better to keep your notes than in something that you always bring along? An adventurer's best friend indeed…

This stack of travelogues was now my personal holy grail of alchemic knowledge. What quests did he go on? What drove him to go on these adventures the way he did? Was there anything I could learn from that? I mentally salivated at the prospect of being able to pick his brain. But first thing was first, I had to decode it.

The encryption was impeccable. There daily entries, each one split in two distinct sections. The first half went over the details of the currently visited place, descriptions of the sights, the people, the food, culture… interspersed with personal thoughts that seemed randomized, much like a person lost in the moment recording everything he could take up with his senses. The second half contained a "dear diary"-like summary of the day, presumably written before bed. Highly rational observations and more personal thoughts and opinions, occasionally asking rhetorical questions, like what he should be doing the next day.

This was nothing like the nice, neat organization of a cookbook, or DIY guide. It was a mixture of order and chaos. Of observation and emotion. Facts and feelings. Any layman who got ahold of these would come out honestly believing that they'd seen into Edward Elric's soul. The ironic part is that they would say so without realizing that they missed out on the deepest meaning of these writings. The truth within the truth.

This cemented my earlier suspicions. Edward Elric was a bona fide child prodigy. How else could a twelve-year-old top a national-level selection test? Me? I had lots of prep work. If we count my past life, I'm over 40 years old now. I've earned my share of degrees from Todai, Waseda, and Keio. Most importantly, I'm _from the future_. With the exception of functional alchemy, I've seen how far a world like this can go. Yet despite all this, I'll be the first to admit, I'm not sure I was able to top the exam. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been exerting effort searching for an alternative in case I didn't make the cut.

So where do I start decoding a notebook encrypted on a completely different level than what I'm familiar with? I'd need to get into his head. I'd have to see what he saw… Which means, of course, digging up references for all these places he's been to. Or, I could just relax, do my usual practice, and wait until Alphonse got back so I could ask for tips on how to crack it.

Was this pushing my luck as his guest? Abusing his hospitality? These were his brother's own private notes. Both in the sense of private musings, and alchemic secrets. This wasn't something that I'd be able to take on without his full and complete trust, which I'm pretty sure I've yet to earn. So for the short term, the answer was yes, I'd definitely be pushing it. I'd have to do this on my own. There was no way I was going to get him to violate a lifetime's worth of deep trust with his brother just so some cocky kid could eventually become better than said brother. At least, not at the moment…

I'd have to get my own ciphers from around the country. For the sake of convenience, I could start in the Southern Sector, where he came from. And so, I spent the next few hours preparing an itinerary for the next leg of my journey: going south. I pulled up a map of the country and spread it out over my table, setting Edward's travelogues aside. The simplest initial approach was to start off with the Central main rail line. Rush Valley, the Mecca of the automail industry. Kadayr and its pungent cheeses. Dublith's amazing lake and tourism industry. Some place called Awbeziz… not sure what they're known for. Ydfunlukya… I'm starting to wonder what kind of culture dwelt in the Southern Sector before Amestris annexed them… Finally, South City. The rail line terminates after two more major stops in the southwest, but this list isn't a bad start.

It was around eight o'clock when someone knocked on the door. "Tanya?" It was Alphonse. "I've got your results. May I come in?"

"Sure thing," I answered, reclining into my chair as I turned the page on one of my books. By this point, I'd finished my planning and gone back to reviewing my materials.

Alphonse opened the door and stepped inside. He hadn't changed out of his uniform yet, so he clearly headed straight to my room when he arrived. I'm guessing my results were pretty urgent. "Here you go." He handed me a sealed long envelope. Well… they sure went through a lot of trouble to make my results look special. Whether it was a title, or a message that said 'try again next year', it was certainly made with care.

I snapped the seal – traditional red candle wax, stamped by a signet ring bearing the state's dragon – and opened the envelope, pulling out a carefully folded sheet of parchment with gold lining. I flipped it up, and my eyes widened.

"You could read it out loud, if you want," Alphonse said, as May entered the room, apparently to share in the moment. They really did think of me as a friend at this point.

I cleared my throat and began to read. "This official document certifies that the nation of Amestris, prefecture of the Generalissimo, appoints the name SYLPHID to TANYA DEGURECHAFF, in the name of Führer Willis Grumman." So that was it, the big announcement itself. I tried so hard to contain my excitement. I really did. But despite my best efforts, my face twisted into a wide grin. It was official. I was now a State Alchemist. Cue the fanfare.

Now for the nitty gritty details: my 'contract', or 'terms of agreement', if you would. "The State Alchemist shall follow all orders and policies of the military. A research assessment examination shall be held once every year. In the case that the State Alchemist does not show signs of progress in her research as a result of the examination, she shall be discharged from the services of State Alchemist." Simply put, these were the essentials. Things that could get me terminated if I wasn't paying attention.

Finally, there were the perks. I had these down by heart. These were my motivation, after all. But to read it out loud for myself was a completely different feeling… "The State Alchemist is entitled to the use of ample research funds, unrestricted access to classified documentation, access to various governmental facilities, and a military rank equal to that of "Major". Signed, Willis Grumman."

Alphonse reached into his pocket and pulled out a lacquered wooden case. It was about ten inches across, square. Big enough to contain large pieces of jewelry. Given the context of the situation, I knew exactly what was in it. "Welcome to the College," he removed the lid, revealing that coveted pocket watch, pristine silver newly fashioned and nestled in a gentle purple velvet pillow, "Sylphid Alchemist."

My eyes widened as I reached out to take the case, daintily picking the watch out by the chain, and setting it down in my left palm. I took a few moments to just stare at it. Fine silver, with the State Alchemist emblem embossed on the surface. The Amestrian dragon, and a polygram consisting of a vertical diamond intersecting a horizontal hexagon, underlain by a semi-circular wreath of laurels. If I was now a dog of the military, this would be my collar. Quite the fancy collar, I might add.

"Congratulations!" May applauded.

"So what do you think?" Alphonse asked.

"Of…?" My eyebrow went up.

"The title. We did a bit of thinking about it."

"Hrm…" Well, a 'Sylphid', if I'm not wrong, is a kind of female air spirit. On Earth, the term was first coined by Theophrastus Bombastus van Hohenheim, also known as 'Paracelsus', a leading alchemist and the 'father of toxicology'. According to Amestrian books, however, the term was first brought into the lexicon by none other than the mysterious Philosopher of the East. "Well… it's kind of…"

First off, I may be in a little girl's body, and I guess that's the angle the Führer was going with here. But I'm not actually a little girl. Not that anyone would believe me, or anything. That being said, 'Sylphid' might as well have been 'Fairy' translated from the language of fantasy into the language of alchemy.

"Yes?"

"I guess it fits." I finally said, my voice lacking its earlier enthusiasm. I mean, what else can I expect from a goofy old man? I tried to fake another smile. "I like it!"

No doubt, this was only the beginning of my ordeals in this world run by Being X.

~O~O~O~

"Gentlemen, I think today's results are clear." Führer Grumman sat at his desk, face behind a folded set of hands. Orange sunset light shined into his glasses from the window, reflecting off of them with an appropriate eeriness. Spread across the desk was a pair of application forms. "I think for this year, we'll have two new State Alchemists. Not a common occurrence, but it's happened before."

Alphonse stood to attention while Mustang yawned.

"Yeah, it was really impossible to pick between the two." The General nodded to himself. The demonstrations were both very impressive. Although Degurechaff had unusual insight into the written portion of the exam, the other one was no less effective. It was conventional wisdom, sure, but if conventional wisdom could get you a perfect score, then one couldn't argue against it. What an interesting pair of new achievers this year would produce.

"I guess it all comes down to working on their titles now, am I right, Your Excellency?" Alphonse asked.

"Correct." Grumman gestured toward a pair of comfy chairs across from his desk. "If there's nothing else, we can start by brainstorming on our first one, Ms. Degurechaff."

The two State Alchemists took their seats. Mustang retrieved his copy of her sheet, where he'd scribbled down some notes earlier. "Well, she flies," he started. "The most straightforward part of it would be the 'Flying Alchemist'."

"Sounds kind of plain," the Führer rubbed his chin in thought. "Though I wouldn't fault you for such a suggestion, given your own is also rather self-explanatory."

Mustang only shrugged with a smile. "Flame Alchemist is as direct as you can get, yep."

"Her most impressive feat involved… some kind of incantation, though," Alphonse pointed out. "It was too fast for me to get what she was saying, but she sure looked like she was chanting something. If you want to get playful with titles, you could also take that into consideration. The… 'Witch Alchemist'?"

The general only snickered. His disapproval of the suggestion was plain. "Do we give her a broomstick instead of a pocket watch?" The mental image of Degurechaff wearing a witch's hat and robes as she flitted about the room on a broomstick elicited brief chuckles from his companions.

Grumman returned to his earlier silence. "While that might be an amusingly appropriate title, General Mustang, let us not forget that the College of State Alchemist is an elite brotherhood. We can't just go around giving silly nicknames to its new members. Do we have any other suggestions?"

Mustang hummed in thought. "A more important concern, Sir, is to confirm whether or not that was an actual incantation with actual causative effect on a transmutation sequence, or if she was just muttering stuff."

"It didn't sound… human, really. It was like her voice shrank by a few octaves." Apparently having been the only person to have witnessed this incident, Alphonse's seat was starting to look like the hot one as both superiors looked at him. "I could only be sure it was her because her lips were moving."

Grumman nodded. "Well, we haven't encountered anything like magic before. Alchemy is pretty clearly a science that goes back to Xerxes. Are either of you familiar with any sort of transmutation style that involves incantations? If so, then this is just another brand of alchemy. On the other hand, if she really is using 'magic' of some sort, not only could this potentially disqualify her, it would open up an entirely new series of inquiry, concerning how actual bona fide magic exists."

"If we want to get technical, the only thing an alchemist really needs to do to initiate a transmutation is to draw a circle to represent power, and call on that power by impressing a structural matrix onto it, whether drawn on the spot, or pre-drawn, so long as they make physical contact." Mustang held up one of his gloves, the symbols reflecting clear meanings. Mirroring triangles, Air and Earth in an overlap, supplanted by an upright triangle of fire. Standing above the fire spirit salamander, all beneath a burning fire sigil. All encompassed by a double circle. "Combat-rated alchemists have their circles on-hand for them to be able to start up a transmutation on demand. Folks like Colonel Armstrong, the late Major Kimblee, myself, of course…" He pointed next at Alphonse. "Thanks to seeing the Truth, Colonel Elric here is capable of creating a circle with his arms, and using his own body as the structural matrix. I don't think I've ever heard of someone using an incantation to make it happen."

"It was definitely alchemy, though," Alphonse noted. "She clapped her gloves to form a circle, and the flash was a transmutation reaction, I've no doubt."

"Doesn't explain why her voice sounded freakishly different. Was she trying to… boost her alchemy with an incantation?"

"I don't think we can say at this point. We'll need to watch for it again," the younger Elric took a moment to have a sip of water. "Maybe it's still an experimental process, and she only thought of using it at the last second."

The Führer rubbed his chin in thought. "Well, if it _is_ alchemy, then this isn't exactly a major issue. Just be sure to continue monitoring her progress on that front, and see if it can be put to good use somehow."

"Gotta hand it to you, Alphonse," Mustang shook his head in some disbelief. "This orphanage kid you picked up keeps dropping surprises on us. The more I look at her, the more I'm starting to wonder if she isn't some kind of overachiever."

"She does seem to be pretty ambitious," Alphonse could only nod. "When we first met, she declared that she was going to beat Brother's record at being the youngest person to become a State Alchemist."

"Well, she certainly has the drive for achievement, then…" Grumman read over her written answers again. "She knows a lot for her age, has ambition, and thinks out of the box in some ways. We could certainly use someone like that. I think that if she has a proper guide, she could be of great service to us."

Mustang smirked in response. "Well, Iron Heart, looks like you'll be babysitting her from now on. Officially, I mean."

"So you're saying I'm now…" This was a first.

"Yes, as of now, I'm hereby appointing you as Degurechaff's direct superior."

Alphonse blinked, still unsure what to make of this decision. He had never really commanded anyone before. Most of his time was spent performing research in his own laboratory. His promotion came from a breakthrough in having discovered a new metallurgical process, rather than any commendable combat actions. That being said, he wasn't going to be doing anything too different than what he was already up to. Well… he'd be spending some more time with her, at any rate. Keeping an eye on her advancement, guiding her as she went about doing her work… going over her research proposals and such. "I understand, Your Excellency."

Mustang clapped slowly. "Alright! Now that that's settled with, it's time we actually decided on a title for our little… 'Pixie Alchemist?'" The new suggestion was clearly setting aside the initial 'Witch' one.

"That's pretty cute," Alphonse nodded with a smile. "Certainly has nicer connotations than 'Witch'."

"Unfortunately, that cuteness might be too much of a focus," the Führer lifted a book out from one of his desk drawers, the cover depicting a flying boy and a fairy companion. "Parker Pen has been a smash hit on the theatre scene, and the newly released novel is taking the international book circuit by storm. His pixie sidekick Winx McBell is the epitome of adorable, if the critics are to be believed."

In short, the current pop culture would destroy the ancient image of pixies and fairies as terrifying eldritch entities that kidnapped your children in the night and replaced them with changelings. The fact that Alphonse's first reaction to 'pixie' was to call it cute already demonstrated that the new image was making headway.

"We could just use a more obscure term that means the same thing," Mustang shrugged. He wasn't really a dictionary person, but his own studies of Flame alchemy involved studying the element of air. And what would be more fitting than a term derived from alchemy itself? "'Sylph' is a term we use to refer to the element of air. In the old writings, it referred to an elemental spirit, in fact. The world at large would still respect it, but it can still be an in-joke among alchemists."

"So, the 'Sylph Alchemist'?" Grumman paused in thought. "That does sound rather esoteric, yes."

"If we want to be more specific about it," Alphonse started, "A Sylphid is a female sylph."

"Yeah, I can get behind that," Mustang nodded.

"So there we have it," the Führer pulled his pen out of its cap and began to write down the letter on the blank certificate sheet. "Tanya Degurechaff, Sylphid Alchemist."

"So that's one title down, one more to go. Okay, so what do we know about…" The dark haired general twirled his mustache in boredom as he read over another sheet, this one housing the details of the second neophyte. "Maria Sioux?"

To be continued…

* * *

 **AN:** No, I did not make up those other city names. I actually opened up the Amestrian map and looked at the southern rail line. Said map also said… "Official Language: English", and "Est. Pop: 50,000,000".

Also, beforehand, I retconned some statements I wrote in earlier chapters. In particular, the official government announcement explaining the blackout everyone experienced on the Promised Day. After having given it some thought, I realized that if they created a cover story that Bradley died a hero in a coup attempt, then the other aspects of the incident should also have been explained away. So the nationwide transmutation circle is now explained away in a cover story. You can find this section in Chapter 2: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Central.

 **EDIT** : The first review I got since this update pointed out a very crucial error I made about Edward's notes. I've since revised the chapter to correct this error.


	8. VII: Snapback

**AN:** A late Christmas present for everybody.

I'd like to preface this by saying I have not read the books (notably, fanlators can't get past vol 3, which is also where Season 1 ends, because they're now licensed and so we have to wait a while for the official English translations), and only portions of the manga. I have no idea what happens after Season 1, since Season 2 is still stuck in production or something. As such, I have no idea how things work out in the long run, and will only be writing things based on how I think they'd work out given what I've seen of Tanya so far. Because of my current situation, I'd also like to request a minimalization of YS spoilers. Yes, I am spoilerphobic.

As for how Mary fits in, I'm working on it. Figured they'd be built to contrast each other in the first place, and I'll be focusing on that aspect for sure.

 **Disclaimer** : Youjo Senki is the property of Being X, and Hiromu Arakawa is the one True author of FMA.

* * *

 **VII. SNAPBACK**

 _COMMANDER'S OFFICE, NORTHERN COMMAND, 5 APRIL, 1918_

There is a common misconception that it's always snowy here up north. It's not _always_ snowy, so much as it is only _mostly_ snowy. The ice melts away for a short time in the summer months, producing a brief 45-day reprieve from the harsh northern climate. I mean, it only gets to six degrees Celsius, but at least it's above zero. That being said, summer was two months away, and so this place would remain covered in snow for a while longer.

I lazily kept my gaze on the snow falling outside the window behind the commanding officer, looking through him rather than at him. Not that he'd be able to tell the difference. The blonde, square-jawed pencil pusher was busy reading my recommendation letter from Central Command.

Maybe I should explain what I was doing here in the first place. Remember that night I passed the State Alchemist exam, and found Edward Elric's notes? Remember how they were encrypted as travelogues, making use of elements from everywhere that he happened to travel? Well, I've spent the last eight months or so running around and learning about the various places and cultures in this country, essentially following in his footsteps.

Not exactly what I had in mind when I decided I'd become a State Alchemist. Granted, I only spent half of that time doing so, and the other half working on various research programs, initiatives, and personal projects that I could use for my reassessment this year. Regardless, my objective for this trip to the North was to take in what Edward saw. According to his logs, he spent some time in Fort Briggs, before going around the Northern Sector in general.

This means, of course, that I'd have to go to that frozen hellhole. Fort Briggs was the Ultimate Shield, the Amestrian bulwark against the vaguely Slav-like Drachman Empire. Built across the Briggs Valley, the only gap in the vast Northern Mountain Range – a natural wall that separated Amestris and Drachma – Fort Briggs is an _artificial_ wall, loaded with guns, and manned by soldiers that would make the Spartans green with envy. After all, they only held the hot gates for three days, while Briggs has stood for decades.

In fact, a few years ago, they annihilated three entire Drachman divisions in under an hour. The sheer embarrassment from that defeat must have gotten on the Tsar's nerve, since no further action was pursued, and the whole incident was quietly swept under the rug. I wouldn't blame him for trying to blot out that gigantic shame. It's bad for PR, and bad for his reputation.

"So according to this, Brigadier General Zettour says you're here for an… inspection of Briggs' anti-air capabilities?" Lieutenant General Hakuro raised an eyebrow as he looked between me and the letter. "Is he aware that we just had another State Alchemist review their entire defense grid last month, including AA?"

I coughed just as I was about to take a sip from the complementary coffee. "I'm sorry…?"

"Major Degurechaff, I'm starting to wonder if Central Command's right hand even knows what its left is doing." A strongly-built man, Hakuro's standing up blocked out the entire lower half of his window, casting a shadow over me. He turned around and walked over to the glass pane, staring at the snow outside. "Last month, another State Alchemist showed up. She had a recommendation letter from Brigadier General Rudersdorf informing me that she was here to go up to Briggs and inspect the totality of its defense grid. I can only imagine such an error of redundancy would not have come to pass under Führer Bradley's administration."

Oh great. He's a Bradley fan. And from how he sounds, he's about to go into one of those 'back in my day' rants, for that bygone golden age when Bradley ran things. Not that I disagree that Bradley was a charismatic war hero, but his hawkish policies did more long-term damage to the economy than good. Got to cut him off before he wastes even more of my time! "Well Sir, I'd like to point out that we State Alchemists each have our own specializations. It sounds to me like whoever came here last month specializes more in general defensive alchemy and tactics. I'm here because my field revolves around aerial doctrine and _that alone_."

That seemed to get Hakuro's attention. The general didn't launch into the rant that I'd feared, instead remaining quiet about it. "You know, Major, we never really had much in the matter of air power until a couple years back. Even then, we've only implemented countermeasures, rather than taking offense into consideration. Intelligence reports tell us that our neighbors are so far behind they haven't even figured out how to make an airship nimble enough to avoid a volley from regular artillery pieces. I wonder if focusing on the skies isn't giving them a little too much credit."

Was this guy serious? That's not how you secure supremacy in war! You don't sit on your laurels polishing your guns while you wait for the enemy to catch up! You do so by being proactive. You continue to develop. To innovate. And in doing so, widen the gap between you and your enemies until you've left them completely in the dust! That's why it's called an arms _race_. The further ahead you are, the closer you are to winning! "With all due respect, Sir, I think that the time for air power is now. If we can shore ourselves up against future air developments, we can continue to outpace everybody else and ensure that when they eventually do start flying, we will have aircraft and defenses advanced enough to shoot them down with impunity."

Hakuro only scoffed. "You really are an alchemist, aren't you, Major?"

The hell is that supposed to mean?

"Yes, that kind of forward thinking isn't unusual for alchemists in the State's employ," he turned around to face me, slowly walking back to his desk. "Always keeping their sight on what lies ahead, rather than the here and now. You remind me a lot of a State Alchemist I used to work with."

Oh, I get it. Yes, Brigadier General Zettour warned me this guy would be potentially uncooperative. It all started when he was a Major General serving in New Optain, something of a secondary capital for the Eastern Sector. During his time there, he apparently boiled some bad blood with then-Colonel Mustang. Everybody in the military knew that Mustang was something of a glory hound, but Hakuro in particular heavily resented the fact that he was in the good graces of the Eastern Commander, then-Lieutenant General Grumman, who he believed to be aiding in the Colonel's meteoric rise.

Bradley's death, Grumman's succession to the Fuhrership, and the subsequent promotion of Mustang to the position of Eastern Commander, all in quick succession, were apparently too much for him to bear, and so he requested a transfer to a different sector entirely. Talk about butthurt. While he was given a complimentary promotion to go with the reassignment, likely as a sign of goodwill, the only post available was that of the recently-vacated Northern Commander, who at the time had just been arrested after his part in the conspiracy was discovered.

I imagine the cold climate hasn't been kind to him these past few years, nor the fact that he's now forced to regularly deal with the Ice Queen of Briggs. If anything, I imagine this has only spurred on his hatred for Grumman's administration… As a result, he's gained infamy for becoming something of an obstructionist to Central Command's whims since arriving here. So what does this have to do with me? It's really simple. Grumman gave me my certification. Therefore, to him, I'm one of Grumman's pawns. Ergo, he extends this hatred and obstructionism to me.

"Tell me, Major," he sat back down in his seat and poured himself a coffee. "Once your ideas for developing our air power take root, what do you intend to do with such fertile ground?"

"I intend to voice my opinion with Central, Sir," I poured some milk into my own coffee and took a sip. "To influence the direction it might be headed, hopefully in the creation of an air force." Hakuro's activities have done nothing to ingratiate him to Central Command. There's no way his obstructionist malarkey is going to be heard over my own expertise. So it doesn't matter what I tell him.

"And when the State spends the people's precious tax cenz on creating an entirely new branch of the military, do you plan to take charge of it?"

It took all of my willpower to hold back the urge to break out laughing. The rank hypocrisy was astounding. Here was a career officer, someone who practically lives on nothing but tax cenz for doing an administrative job that any desk jockey general can apply for, implying that _my plan_ was going to be a waste of tax money? Ah, if only I could tell him to his face how he was nothing but a replaceable cog in a machine… That if he dropped dead right now, Central would just send someone to pick up after him… He was _nothing_ compared to my plan. A dedicated air force would secure Amestris' hegemony over the continent as the world's first true air power. The resulting aircraft industry would create more jobs, allow entrepreneurs to open up new businesses, and positively affect us in so many ways…

 _That_ is money well _invested_. _Not_ spent.

"I am a scientist, Sir. Not a general. I leave the leadership to those who specialize in it. As its primary proponent, however, I fully intend to serve in an advisory capacity." This is true. The last thing I want is to turn this into a career. That grant I'm receiving right now is capital. Capital that I've been investing wisely. The smallest percentage to cover my living expenses. A majority used in my alchemic pursuits. Everything from R&D, to experimentation, to travel and lodging costs as I search for ciphers to crack Edward Elric's notes. Finally, a minority, about ten percent, is allotted to discretionary income.

Don't get me wrong though. Ten percent of a State Alchemist's monthly stipend is a hefty sum. This past year, I've already been able to buy some property in Duazil, a growing town in the southwest of the Central Sector that's starting to build up its industrial base. I'll probably set up an apartment building there to house workers, developing a simple real estate "pipeline" as a start before moving on to more profitable projects.

When normal people think about real estate, they usually approach it with a flipping mentality: buy a property for cheap, invest some time, money, and effort to fancy it up, then sell it for a higher price. That's great for a quick buck, but what happens when your profit runs out? It's off to getting another place and flipping it. That takes _work_.

When financially literate people think of real estate, they approach it with a mentality of continuous income. Let's put it in the context of Monopoly. When you buy a property, you can only sell it for half price. Flipping isn't a thing. The best way to profit from your land is to develop it. Build four green houses, upgrade to a big red hotel, and then squeeze the competition out of their money with rent. Not once, not twice, but _every_ _single time_ they land on it. Flipping is once. Rent is _monthly_.

Now see, had _Tucker_ been financially literate, he would have done the smart thing and invested a fraction of his grants into some sort of asset system. Then he wouldn't have had to worry about losing his income, and then resorting to _fraud_ just to get his State License renewed. He could have been a happy man, practicing alchemy in the private sector, keeping his fancy mansion, and enjoying his spare time with his wife, kid, and dog. I still get the occasional urge to shake my head about how despicable he was. This silver pocket watch is a symbol of excellence among the excellent, achievement among achievers, hard work, sweat, blood, time, and tears. How dare he defile it with fraud! No wonder most people think of State Alchemists as sellouts.

"Are you sure you're not both?" Hakuro raised an eyebrow. "Other State Alchemists have gotten pretty far with-"

A comms officer burst into the room, holding a piece of paper in his hand. Given his disregard for protocol, I immediately assumed that this was urgent. "Sir! Briggs just wired us a report! Drachma is attacking!"

"Any details, Captain?" I couldn't help but notice a slight hint of excitement in the Lieutenant General's voice. Well, if Bradley was a warmonger, and this guy's a Bradley fan, then it only stands to reason that he's… eager… for renewed conflict. What a mess…

The officer held the paper up, presumably to read any details he missed. I'm guessing as soon as he saw the words 'Drachma' and 'attack' earlier, he bolted straight here without reading the rest of it. "Heavily armed airship."

Oh, great. So now I have to wait here until we get further news from up there. Which also means I'm going to have to put up with more of General Hakuro's nonsense. I sighed in annoyance. Well… at least I'm not the center of attention for now. And hey, things could get worse. I could've arrived two days earlier if my train didn't get snowed in at Zowuy. Even given this obstructionism, I would've definitely gotten to Briggs this morning at the latest… and I could be getting shelled at by Drachmans this very second.

Gotta count these fortuitous moments, honestly. Being X has been relentless as of late with bad coincidences.

I have to admit though… the thought of an… air battleship, I guess is one way to put that… intrigues me. Nope. Shouldn't jinx this. Not going to say anything about that.

"Understood. Forward this to Central. We'll wait for further instructions."

"Sir!" The captain saluted and rushed off.

"I'm guessing you're sitting on your hands because presumably, Briggs has this covered?" But let's be honest. He's just here to make life as hard as possible for all of Grumman's associates. Major General Armstrong was hailed as a great hero, one of several who led loyalist efforts to crush the conspiracy. She essentially threw herself in with Grumman when her Briggs forces fought alongside his Eastern Command forces. Rumor has it that she intends to fight Mustang for the top spot once Grumman retires.

Hakuro could easily pay lip service to Briggs' status as the Ultimate Shield and use it as an excuse to not send reinforcements, and let them take the brunt of the Drachman attack. Sure, they annihilated a corps-sized unit with impunity some years ago. But I'm pretty sure this is the first time they've ever encountered any sort of air power in the region. They might be hardened defenders, but first contact is bound to yield higher casualties regardless.

"That's right," Heh. He even managed to put up a really convincing act of solemnity. And then, I saw it… the slight glint in his eye. "Major… you said you wanted to inspect their AA, yes?"

"That's what I'm here for," I nodded.

Hakuro stood up and held up his palms as if to receive some falling blessings from the sky. "Wouldn't you agree that there's no better way to assess its performance than a live engagement?"

"I respectfully disagree, Sir." Ah crap. Now he's got me. I'm going to have to go into _his_ camp and get in bed with _his_ obstructionism now? "A live engagement is far too chaotic to properly assess the batteries' performance." Not to mention I'd be too preoccupied with not getting _shot_. "Even if I did have the acumen to do so, it would take two days to get from here to Briggs on a halftrack. Considering their track record, the battle would be long over."

"Come now, Major!" Hakuro took a sip from his coffee. "If there's anything that spreads around the country faster than a wildfire, it's news of alchemists being thou for the people! Don't think I haven't heard about the exploits of the Sylphid Alchemist. I know that you don't just fly. You fly _fast_. The 55 kilometer trip from here to Briggs would take you less than half an hour. Isn't this what you wanted?" The general picked up a rubber stamp from his desk and pushed it hard into my recommendation letter, embedding its mark in the paper. Quickly signing it with his pen, he then stepped out from behind his desk, walked over, and handed it to me. "Here you go! Now go on and inspect their AA batteries in action."

"Well I uh…" I bowed down to focus on my coffee as my face started to twist into a snarl. Didn't want him to see that. "Is that an order, Sir?"

"General Zettour's letter says your inspection is of the highest priority," he shrugged. "I'm just implementing his recommendation."

A defeated sigh escaped my lips. In the end, he's still a general… more importantly, I got seriously hoist by my own petard here… "Permission to finish my coffee before departing, Sir?" The least I could do was just get a little time to process this… I was going to fly into a battlefield. The literal front lines. The very thing I swore I'd do everything to prevent. And yet now…

"Permission granted, Major." I could almost hear his smug confidence… hear each drop as it oozed from his voice and fell to the floor. "You have five minutes. Don't want it to get cold. Wouldn't want to miss that engagement either, would we?"

"Yes, Sir…" Damn you, Being X! Damn you to whatever hell you made!

~O~O~O~

 _AMESTRIAN AIRSPACE, 10 KM SOUTH OF FORT BRIGGS, ALTITUDE: 3000 METERS_

Up to an altitude of 3,200 meters, the amount of oxygen in the atmosphere is more or less identical to that at sea level. The difference lies in air pressure, which is about 30 percent lower. Why is this important? Air pressure plays a vital role in pushing air molecules from the inside of your lungs into the bloodstream. Lower air pressure means less air gets into your blood, causing your heart to exert more effort to get more air in less time. And everybody knows that high blood pressure is a bad thing. This is just one of many significantly detrimental effects of oxygen starvation. Worse symptoms include nausea, headaches, and getting high. And nobody wants to be high in the middle of a dogfight.

Acclimatization to high altitudes is possible with mountain training, and your body will end up with a superior fitness level for it. But once you move back down to sea level, your body will go back to its usual state in a matter of weeks. So training high in the mountains works for say, preparation for a stint at the Olympics, but not for a career that requires you to fly for long. And no, I'd rather not live in the mountains.

So what's the solution? Back on Earth, aircraft manufacturers developed high altitude oxygen delivery systems. You know, those oxygen masks that flight attendants always tell you to get ready to wear during a flight emergency? Which I'm sure we'll need to do here as well. But for now, my personal solution is in my transmutation processing: that virtual air tube connecting my respiratory system to the air outside my helium bubble is also set to increase the air pressure to sea level… More or less the same as an aircraft oxygen mask!

I've never really gotten the chance to go much higher than my current altitude, but if I'm going to help develop airplanes, I'm going to have to push the envelope and see just how high I can fly. My primary limitation, of course, is how far up I can go before my continuous transmutations can no longer tap into the geothermal energy radiating from the ground. Once I've figured this out, then I can set safety precautions for myself…

The sky was mostly clear today, which was something to be thankful for. Were it the usual dark and dreary weather here up north, the only clue I'd have that I was approaching my destination would be the peaks of the Northern Mountain Range jutting out above the low-lying clouds. As things were right now, though, I could see the rapidly approaching wall of Fort Briggs. A marvel of Amestrian engineering, it might as well serve as a dam were a river flowing through the valley. Of course at this latitude, any rivers would be forever frozen, so damming it up would be a moot idea.

No. It was a wall not to hold back water, but to keep invaders out. Totally different requirements.

And there, floating ominously near that wall, was what would definitely fit the idea of an air battleship. Or um… battle airship? Regardless, it was like someone slapped an upside-down battleship onto an oversized dirigible and bolted it in place. Two main turrets, triple-barreled, and packing high calibres. I couldn't tell from this distance, but those guns were _big_. Let's say like... 40cm battleship guns? Maybe? Honestly, the only way we'd be able to find out was if we shot it down and hauled the guns back for analysis. One turret hung beneath the section of the superstructure housing what I guessed to be the bridge, while the other did so from underneath an even bulkier structure of some sort behind that. The balloon itself was painted with a cliché angry shark face that in the modern era, would probably just make people laugh.

Exploding all around it, various shells. I'd recognize the report of those AA batteries anywhere. Not just the batteries. Other types of shells as well as autocannons. They were throwing everything they had at it. The problem was, they weren't hitting. _How_ could they keep missing like this? It was practically on top of them!

Hang on…

Was I seeing things, or was there debris flying around…? I grabbed the binoculars slung around my neck and brought them up to bear. No. No, no, no. This wasn't happening. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, and opened them again. No. They were still there. Definitely not a hallucination. From this distance, they seemed like mosquitoes buzzing the fortress and the vicinity of the airship, but there was no mistaking that they were soldiers. _Flying_ soldiers. Probably through some mechanical means. Drachma doesn't have alchemy. Only Creta does, due to previous trade agreements. For Aureugo, alchemy is only starting to filter in thanks to a ceasefire after an extensive series of conflicts. Drachma has always been on the exclusion list. So they can't be using alchemy.

For now, I'll assume they're using, for lack of a better term, 'jetpacks'. At least until I see them up close. Then I'll know for sure.

So they weren't missing the airship. They were just concentrating on these jetpackers. While the AA grid and weapons were designed before I gained my certification, the past year had me making recommendations to the armory based on my future knowledge. Instead of just focusing on airships, I told them, they should also design smaller caliber guns for use against… well I didn't call them airplanes. But rather, 'theoretical high-mobility aircraft'. _People_ though. Their level of nimbleness went beyond my suggested specifications. They were missing these guys.

But why weren't they pointing the bigger guns at the airship… why all at the jetpacks?

As I continued to close in, I started to sweat. A beating in my chest grew until it felt like it would burst. Adrenaline was starting to circulate in my system preparing for a fight or flight response. This will be my first actual engagement. Sure, I did my time. Sixteen weeks through the Basic Engineer Officer Course. If I wanted to gain enough respect to influence the emergent air doctrine, I'd have to get into the hierarchy. I'd have to know their language, understand their culture, think their thoughts.

At the same time, this choice of course made it clear that I had no intention of going out to the front. I was a researcher primarily, here to earn my chops and find the means to apply them in a way that would be useful to the State Military as a whole, rather than to a single engineering unit.

Therein lay the problem for me. BEOC was a specialist school that took in commissioned officers to train in the engineering fields, and those alone. In the State Military, officer candidates are required to go through basic combat training. As such, going into BEOC, they would already know how to fight, allowing them to specialize. Having received my commission as part of my certification as a State Alchemist, rather than from Officer Selection School, however, I skipped that part entirely. Oh sure, they put us through live fire exercises for minesweeping, sapping, bridge building and the like, but nothing too direct…

So do I fight or flee? Hakuro would no doubt report the exact moment of my departure, and knowing my records, I'd be court martialed for going AWOL if I don't get there in the next few minutes. If that happens, I could lose my certification. It's too soon! No, there's no doubt about it. I have to report to Briggs, firefight be damned. Maybe they'll let me take cover inside the fort? I'm just an engineer, I have no combat experience or training… I'd only get in their way.

The challenge with that was that State Alchemists had a reputation thanks to Ishval. Human weapons who reduced the revolting country to nothing more than a mere footnote in Amestris' long list of conquests. Which means there's a big chance that General Armstrong would send me to fight.

That gives me three options here… One, report to Briggs and try my luck at getting them to shelter me. The odds of that happening are really bad for the reasons stated above. Two, I report to Briggs and volunteer to help. Maybe if I'm lucky, the reverse psychology would work and they'll assign me to some rear echelon support work. I could make transporting ammo from the armoury a snap, for example. At the same time, I'll be able to do my job and inspect the batteries up close. Three… I take the Drachmans by surprise and jump straight into the fight.

It's the most reckless sounding choice. On the one hand, I'm an aerodynamics alchemist. I specialize in the air. This battle is right in my element, combat experience be damned. They might have jetpacks, but I could probably think of a dozen ways to take them down even without a gun. And, it'll look good on my resume. On the other hand, they can most definitely kill me with ease if I'm not careful. Best case scenario is that I walk out of there with minor injuries. Worst case scenario is Briggs mistakes me for a flanking Drachman and shoots me down with friendly fire.

That's obviously not a good idea.

Second option it is, then. Better get there fast. I clapped my hands, prompting a transmutation that accelerated me to double my current flight velocity. As I closed in on the wall, its scale became far more apparent, rising from the bottom of the valley up to two thirds of the flanking mountains, a modern Great Wall.

Guns of every shape and size kept up their withering barrage in a desperate attempt to shoot down as many of those jetpackers as possible. From what I could tell, they were meeting with little success. Therein lay two questions. Again, why wasn't Briggs trying to take down the air battleship? Just as importantly, why didn't the air battleship open fire with its main battery? There was no way it could miss at this range.

My train of thought broke when what could only be described as the sound of a loud, angry bumblebee buzzed over my head.

What?

Another zipped just beneath me, missing by inches.

Crap.

They were shooting at me. I mean, this wasn't completely unexpected, but there's a big difference between thinking it was going to happen, and actually _experiencing_ it. The fact that they almost hit me also meant they were getting good at triangulating my position.

The next round could very well be a direct hit. I clapped my hands, switching my formulae from high speed to evasive maneuvers. While I slowed down, I could easily dodge the incoming fire, swooping down, up, rolling… All while keeping my eye on the main entrance at the center of the fortress' base. Sure, it was also fortified, but if I could just get someone to see me up close…

This is what uniforms were made for, dammit! For battlefield recognition! That being said, it's impossible to see blue at this distance. Hell, the people down at the entrance were just specks to me. Of course they'd shoot at someone who was flying in at high speeds!

Flak exploded to my left, forcing me to dive away.

What about binoculars? Weren't they using any? And weren't they thinking that maybe, just maybe, the fact that I was flying in from the _south_ meant that I was on _their_ side? What's going on here?

I closed in, the fortifications at the main gate becoming more visible to the naked eye. In a few more seconds, I'll be there…

I clapped my hands as I reached the space just before the gate, altering my trajectory for a sudden rapid descent. Dropping like a meteor into the frozen road with enough force to blast a crater into the ice-encrusted asphalt. Talk about a superhero landing.

No time to relax, as the fire kept coming. Clapped one last time to erect an ultra-high pressure air wall to catch their bullets in midflight, at least until the dust could settle. As the mass of ammunition blocked them from view and the smoke began to clear, I reached into my pocket and drew my watch out, holding it up for what would be a comfortable view, as soon as they stopped firing. "Cease fire!" I yelled. "Cease fire, I'm a friendly!"

Note to self: request a radio kit so I can call people and let them know I'm on the way.

The shooting stopped, and I clapped to end the transmutation. The ammo dropped into a large pile at my feet, revealing at least a platoon-sized formation with its guns trained on me. I pointed at the silver pocket watch I was holding up in the air. "Please tell me you know what this is."

"Yep, that's the real deal, alright!" A gruff voice came out from behind the firing line. "Stand down, boys! There's no way anyone's stealing a State Alchemist's pocketwatch… even if she _is_ kinda scrawny."

"Hey!" My annoyed retort did little to reduce my blatant gratitude. Immediately after, I took a moment to sigh in relief as the soldiers lowered their guns and stood aside, revealing an officer who stepped out from between them. He was tall and square-jawed, broad-faced. Swept-back brown hair with a couple of stray bangs emphasizing his prominently large nose. Every last bit what you would expect of someone stationed at a place with Briggs' reputation.

"No offense meant, Ma'am," he laughed before snapping to a salute. "Sorry if the welcome was a bit rough. We weren't expecting any backup and figured you were Drachman, like the other flyers. First Lieutenant Henschel."

"Major Tanya Degurechaff," I returned aforementioned salute before handing over the letter. "Sylphid Alchemist. I'm here under orders from General Zettour to inspect your Anti-Air batteries," I took this time to dust myself off from the landing. It wasn't exactly the cleanest I've made.

Lieutenant Henschel quickly browsed the letter, his eyes settling on the two seals stamped into the bottom area, signed by both General Zettour and General Hakuro. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, Ma'am, but this ain't exactly the best time to be inspecting the guns. We got us a little… bug problem."

"I figured," I nodded, squinting up momentarily at the 'mosquitoes' that buzzed the top of the fort. "Tell you what. I specialize in Aerial Alchemy. Maybe I can help you guys out somehow." Like, I dunno, levitating the ammo up from the armouries to the guns? That sounds relatively safe, right? "Then I can inspect the batteries after we win."

Hah. What a cocksure answer. Then again, this is Briggs. Nobody has broken through this wall since it was first built. They'll figure something out. Maybe…

"In that case, I'll take you to the General's adjutant, Major Falman," Henschel handed the letter back to me and waited until I'd put it away. "If anyone knows what the General's got up her sleeve, it's him." He turned around and after putting one of his subordinates in charge of security, motioned for me to follow. "This way, Ma'am."

"Lead on, Lieutenant." He ran. I followed. It was only understandable, of course. A State Alchemist was a crucial asset, and we were in the middle of a fight. Every second was precious.

"Oh, and Ma'am?" Still not losing his rhythm, the Lieutenant turned his head aside so I could see his face.

"Yes?"

"You might wanna mind the ice." With this warning, he led the way, and we disappeared into the cavernous entrance to the fort…

~O~O~O~

 _ALPHONSE'S OFFICE, CENTRAL COMMAND, 17 APRIL, 1917_

Alphonse stared dumbfounded at the small stack of papers I'd deposited on his desk. I wasn't sure if he was surprised I had all this already prepared and waiting in the wings, that someone my age had written something so comprehensive, or that I'd decided to report in to work the very next day after I'd gotten my certification.

I mean, it was Tuesday. That's a weekday, and therefore, a day of work. It's only proper etiquette to report to work as soon as you've gone through onboarding. That being said, had he not informed me last night that he would be my direct superior, I would've spent the whole of today getting to know who my boss was.

I struggled to hold back a grin as he slowly went through my proposal. "This is…" His eyebrows furrowed as he went over my writing. "I don't know how you came up with this assessment, but…"

"Well, Sir, if I have to be frank, alchemy books aren't the only things I read." I had a particularly eclectic field of interests back in my past life. Economics and history were just two of them. And history has a lot of lessons to teach.

"Yes, but the way you talk about the potential effects of air power…" Alphonse ran his free hand through his hair, a subconscious sign that he was telling himself to get a grip. "The level of detail. It seems almost prophetic."

"I beg your pardon, Sir?" Let's be honest. What kind of nine-year-old kid would write such a comprehensive report? Of course, the answer would be, 'nobody I know'.

"Anybody can share their opinions of a given subject," he started. "But this doesn't look like someone sharing an opinion. There's so much substance in this. Not just substance, but substance that all _makes sense_ , even if it seems counterintuitive. It's as if you've seen a future where air power is commonplace." Alphonse set the report down and looked me straight in the eye. For the first time, I saw his expression harden into sternness. "Tanya…" His eyes narrowed. "Have you seen the Truth?"

My almost-grin disappeared as confusion took over my face instead. "… the Truth, Sir?" What the hell is that supposed to be? I don't think I've come upon anything like that in any of my readings.

Alphonse stared at me, the intensity of his gaze as he probed my face, perhaps for dishonesty or secrecy, causing me to slightly sweat in discomfort. Pedophile jokes aside – and I'm still not 100% sure he _isn't_ one – this was a very awkward experience.

I waited, staring back as I tried to scrounge up a poker face. It went on for maybe half a minute before his seriousness evaporated with a sigh of relief. "It's nothing, forget I asked." Just like that, he went back to his usual chipper self as he resumed going through my report. "Now, this report looks fairly convincing."

Of course it does.

"However, if you're going to push for the creation of an 'air force', as your report suggests," Alphonse rubbed his chin, as if he were trying to find the words to say, "You're going to need a formal place in the military."

Once again, confusion. "But Sir, I thought I was already a part of the military."

"On a technicality," he clarified. "The rank of Major is more of a privileged position. You aren't required to wear the uniform, either." For a moment, his expression turned wistful. "I know my Brother didn't."

So the fact that Alphonse wore the uniform and was clearly integrated into the military hierarchy meant that he had taken an extra step beyond what his brother had done. It also meant that he had something he wanted done that required military influence. "So in order to get the military to hear my thoughts, I have to actually sign up."

"Correct."

Well, I'd already read up on the various training schools in the military, and based on certain… loopholes, I could probably skip basic training in one of many ways thanks to my certification. That being said, those ways were theoretical, and it was better to ask someone with actual experience. "If I may ask, Sir, how did you go about getting yourself in?"

"Simple enough," Alphonse smiled as he answered. "I went to Officer Selection School."

"But isn't that redundant?" I asked. A major going through a school where he would graduate as a second lieutenant. To be fair, OSS taught you all the basics.

"That's true," he nodded and went on. "And if we're talking about technicalities, you can actually just skip OSS and sign up for a specialization course you find appropriate."

"Like BEOC?"

"Engineering would definitely make sense if you were getting down to the nuts and bolts of aircraft development," Alphonse paused, deep in thought. "But you're going to have to go through other courses to deal with the top-down organizational aspects of your proposal… though I'll be the first to admit, it seems you already have a working knowledge of the latter."

At the end of the day, the military was an organization in the same way a corporation was an organization. I've already done my time learning the ins and outs of organizing a large body of people. And while there were some differences, hopefully I can navigate my way around them with my experience. "So then…"

"Yes, I think I can put in a recommendation for you to get into BEOC." He drew a blank sheet of paper from his desk drawer, rolled it into his typewriter, and started hammering away at the keys. "There isn't any official requirement for one to go through OSS first. All you need is a commission. As long as you're sure that you can get by with your informal knowledge."

I briefly wondered if it would ever get to a point that Alphonse would stop getting surprised at the things I knew about. "Oh, don't worry about that, Sir. I think I've got it covered."

Alphonse continued typing away. "If your report is anything to go by, I'd say you're right."

"I don't mean to pry, Sir, but what is it you want to influence in the military?"

"Hmm?"

"The whole point of your getting me to sign up is because I want to influence the greater scheme of things in the military," I clarified. "Is that also why you fully integrated, Sir? Something you wanted to do?"

The tick tacks of the typewriter abruptly stopped as Alphonse looked at me. "It's simple, really." He took a moment to recline into his chair. "A while back, I went on a trip to Xing, to learn their various Alkahestry styles. Along the way, I picked up on a lot of their culture, and realized it would be great if we had a cultural exchange."

So it's more about May, then. "Does that mean you're helping out this guy…" I whipped up one of the flyers I saw at Central University yesterday and read it again. "General Mustang? It says he's in charge of improving our relations with Xing."

Alphonse nodded. "That's right. I might do research into metallurgical alchemy for the military, but at the same time, I'm assisting General Mustang with his Xingese program. Our bigger goals aren't restricted to things related to our alchemy. Half of the time, I'm wearing my alchemy hat, while the other half of the time, I'm wearing my diplomatic one. Not a bad deal, huh?" He resumed typing.

I smiled. "You got that right. We aren't pinned down by certain expectations."

"You know, when May told me you wanted to get a certification to serve the country, I wasn't sure what you had in mind." It was somewhat difficult to hear what he was saying over the noise of the typewriter, but I could make it out with some effort. "And seeing your proposal now, I think you have some real foresight here. But I still don't know what end you're trying to achieve. What happens once we've established ourselves as the dominant air power?"

"Then we'll have nothing to fear from the outside," I said. "A wise statesman once said, 'If we desire to avoid insult, we must be able to repel it; if we desire to secure peace, one of the most powerful instruments of our rising prosperity, it must be known that we are at all times ready for war.'" Reagan? No, that was Washington. More importantly, however, the principle of peace through power goes all the way back to ancient Rome itself. It transcends America. That being said, I don't advocate flying around the world to police it. I do advocate being capable of flying around the world to bomb anybody who dares bomb us. It's only fair. We're just busy minding our own business, after all.

"That's a very…" Alphonse's eyes narrowed. "Strong… position." He went silent, broken by the report of typewriter keys. Alphonse? A peacenik ideologue in the military? Well that's just hilarious. Though I suppose he doesn't have a choice. The government is effectively a military junta. The Head of State is called the _Führer_ , of all things. He _had_ to sign up to get his cultural exchange program underway.

"I mean, it's not like I want to go out and shoot people for no reason like the last Führer," I pointed out. "I just want us to be ready in case diplomacy fails and people start shooting at us. I know our history. I've lived it. The Letoist bombings in East City almost killed me. The last thing I want is our bombs killing orphans in some neighboring country. So if we can deter them from attacking, if we can back our diplomatic words with superior weapons, then we can have peace."

"I do hope you're right, Tanya," Alphonse finished typing his letter, rolling it out for a quick stamp and sign. "For all our sakes."

That same day, I was admitted to BEOC, and began four months of training in military engineering.

* * *

 **AN:** This one got a lot of stuff mucked up in the first couple of drafts. A shoutout to my beta reader Clownpiece for pointing out the problems in this chapter. Happy Holidays, everyone!


	9. VIII: Levitating Ammunition

**AN:** Happy New Year, everybody! And Happy Valentines, while I'm at it! To celebrate, here's a nice new chapter. I've started on the first volume of the fanlated books, and as it turns out, there's been a serious case of error on my end. Having based my entire impression of Tanya from the anime, I missed a very crucial narrative point. Onscreen, her narrations are in first person. In the books, however, Mr. Salaryman narrates Tanya's thoughts and actions in third person, in an attempt to distance himself from her, reserving first person to things in his past life and insights on the matters at hand. That being said, I think I'd go crazy if I had to rewrite everything to match that, so I hope you don't mind if I stick to the current format.

 **Disclaimer:** Youjo Senki is the property of Being X. FMA is the property of Hiromu Arakawa.

* * *

 **VIII.** **LEVITATING AMMUNITION**

 _AMESTRIAN AIRSPACE ABOVE FORT BRIGGS, 5 APRIL, 1918_

The northern cold bit through my meager winter coat as I rose into the icy blue sky. But as long as I was safe from frostbite, the discomfort was forgettable.

Flak exploded in deadly black shrapnel-filled clouds around me. But as long as they detonated at a certain distance and kept the Drachman flyers away, they were more of a comfort than a problem.

The sides of my open mouth flapped in the wind as I surged up at a tight angle, my gritted teeth catching the cold air mixed with exploded smoke to leave a terrible aftertaste in my saliva. But as long as I understood it wouldn't last forever, I could put up with it.

Above me loomed the shadow of the gigantic Drachman air battleship, its volume leaving me speechless, even if I could talk at the moment. If I had to give it an eyeball estimate, it would have been greater than 300 metres in length, significantly larger than the infamous Hindenburg. That being said, it was strange that it was only this big. How could it carry a battleship with only that amount of lift? Sure, it wasn't the full armament of a battleship as we'd think of it in the modern world. The _Yamato_ would easily outgun and outweigh this contender. But the amount of tonnage was still implausible for an airborne vessel of this size.

Either it was made of lighter materials, or there was some other mechanism that allowed it to remain afloat, which I couldn't see from the outside. If the former, it couldn't possibly be aluminum. Because if it were, then I wouldn't have been flying straight at it right now in an attempt to get past its armor… which was definitely not aluminum. I paid heed to the four nozzles stretched out from each 'corner' of the scaffolding securing the superstructure to the flight envelope. They looked suspiciously like jet engines. Which is preposterous. Jet engines! In 1918! Even if they kept the airship aloft, they'd need so much more fuel to keep it up there!

There was still a missing piece to this puzzle.

My thoughts turned to the bomb that I towed behind me with a lattice of reinforced cables. Well, to call it a bomb was an oversimplification. It was a jury rigged explosive built from combining over a hundred 15cm artillery shells into a single makeshift welded casing, all slaved to a timer.

~O~O~O~

 _LABORATORY SIX, FORT BRIGGS_

"Over ten thousand pounds of TNT," the Briggs chief engineer bragged as he gave the device a pat. He was a relatively relaxed fellow, keeping his hair out of his face with a bandanna, and his mouth stuffed with a cigarette. At least he had the courtesy not to blow those disgusting puffs of carcinogenic smoke in my face. "It'll blow that thing out of the sky for sure."

"And you want me to fly it up into the hangar." I crossed my arms as I warily eyed the bomb. Briggs was known for its advanced research. It was in these laboratories and engineering bays that the AM-1 Tank, the "Diligence", was born. Despite being a first generation tank, its performance, from what I've read, fared closer to that of WWII designs, making it far ahead of its time. There was no question that Briggs' R&D staff were brilliant. But to come up with something like this in the middle of a firefight?

"As I said earlier," Major Falman explained. He was a tall man, leaner than most of the grunts here. His head was crowned with a line of sharp grey bangs, while the most notable thing about his long face was a perpetual squint that made me wonder if he was somehow related to General Zettour. Edward's notes mentioned him at several points, mostly during the stint up here in the north. The Major was described as a highly cerebral man, gifted with perfect photographic memory, which made him very useful as a walking encyclopedia. Evidently, he was more than that, if he somehow worked his way to become the General's right hand man. "The airship's armor is impregnable. Even the flight envelope is plated. The only way we can take it out is by causing a detonation on the inside."

This answered the question of why they weren't firing at it, even with their bigger guns. They tried to do so earlier, but it did no serious damage. The most they could do was jam the main battery by firing solid slugs up the battleship cannons' barrels. Which I have to say would take some pretty crazy aim. That being said, those slugs won't be up those barrels forever, and the only guns they could use to achieve that effect have since been destroyed by the flyers. They bought themselves some time, but it was running out. "And how were you people planning to get this up there before I showed up anyway?"

"Honestly? It was your idea." The chief engineer walked over to a large machine sitting by one of the walls, concealed by a sheet of canvas. With a heave, he pulled it off, revealing something that looked just like one of several schematics I'd submitted over the past eight months. A little something I designed to help fighters get off the ground faster, inspired by similar devices used on carrier flight decks. "Of course the catapult's still a prototype, and without one of your 'airplanes' to test it on, we don't really know if it'll work for something this heavy. Even if it does, we only get one shot, and I doubt it'll go in the first time."

My jaw dropped. "They gave you my plans?"

"We develop new weapons here all the time," Major Falman said. "Surely you didn't think the tank was our only achievement."

This wasn't all that bad a surprise. If Central decided to put Briggs in charge of developing my airplanes, then they were definitely in good hands. Still, I couldn't help but imagine how much trouble they'd go through to adapt my temperate schematics to these frozen conditions.

"We'll have the flak guns provide cover fire to ensure you have as clear a path as possible," the Major continued. "If nothing else, this should provide you with a good way to inspect them in live action."

I sighed. Why does everybody think that it's a good idea to test the grid in live combat? Oh sure, that's where your testing gets pushed to the limit, but it's not a controlled environment! A live fire exercise is completely different from an actual engagement! Still, it was his way of giving me reassurance, in a sense…

~O~O~O~

 _AIRSPACE_

A trio of Drachman troops flew up directly into my path, at point blank range. They weren't wearing jetpacks, so much as heli-packs, sporting a rather long pair of rotor blades spinning overhead. They probably wouldn't be able to get into a tightened formation, but why would aerial troops want to clump up for the flak to blow them out of the sky anyway?

Three carbines at the ready, and pointed down in my direction. So close I could see the whites of their eyes if they weren't wearing polarized flight goggles. Major Falman, in all his foresight, gave me a gun. A carbine that wouldn't be too unwieldly even for someone of my petite size. The problem was, I still had it slung over my shoulder, instead of on the ready. Why? Because I'd made a classical rookie mistake and focused on fully accelerating toward the objective, instead of making allowances for combat. This was my first real firefight.

Sure, I've been on a bunch of adventures over the past eight months, but first off, I'd always had the high ground. Being at a height disadvantage was a first for me. Second, I never needed to use a gun when my alchemy took care of long-range problems, and May's Tai Chi lessons took care of CQC. Third, I wasn't towing a fucking five ton bomb below me. Not that it slowed me down too much, mind you, but under the pressure of being shot at by Drachmans and being yelled at by the ruthless General Armstrong, I'd inevitably miscalculated and lacked the velocity to get there as fast as I could have.

On the other hand, the bomb and I had gained a significant amount of momentum, so with regard to these Drachman soldiers?

I clapped my hands and grabbed some of the cables attached to my harness as the light blue transmutation flashed beneath me. A powerful blast of air surged into the bomb from a 9 o'clock direction and swung it counterclockwise, out from below. The momentum of the weapon jerked me along as it swept the Three Stooges out from the air above like a raging freshly-terminated employee swiping the paperweights off my desk. It sent them crashing not only into each other, but into a few more of their compatriots in the distance. A split second later, and they were engulfed by the telling black cloud of Briggs' flak guns.

My payload completed its swing, and by the time it had returned to its original position beneath me, I'd already clapped again to stabilize it and get us back to flying to the target.

Of the many new complications I was starting to learn from this very first dogfight of mine, one of the more irksome ones was the need to calculate and initiate new transmutations more often than I'd like. If you'd recall, I fly by running two continuous transmutations in parallel: aerokinetic structures to assist in my flight, i.e. xenon wings, helium bubble, breathing tube, the works, all in a single 'program'. And air currents themselves to actually get me flying. I'd tried performing a third parallel transmutation before, but in seven years of practice, it's proven extremely challenging to calculate and visualize all of these at the same time.

As a result, I have to sacrifice one process – the currents, of course – in order to use that transmutation 'slot' to perform other things, like turning this bomb into a makeshift meteor hammer. Oh, don't worry. TNT might be a high explosive, but it's also a _highly stable_ explosive. It's not like nitroglycerin, which blows up if you do so much as shake the bottle. And contrary to a lot of video games, don't expect it to blow up if you shoot it. Modern artillery shells detonate because they have various fuses built in, which when triggered, cause smaller explosions with enough power to detonate the TNT itself. These are based on either impact, or timer mechanisms. The chief engineer had disarmed the lot of them and slaved all the shells to his main timed fuse… which I would have to activate once I got this thing into the hangar.

So yes. Using this bomb to smack some idiot Drachs who'd flown too close to me is a legitimate move.

A loud plinking sound resounded from below. Then another… and another. Were they shooting at me, or were they actually ignorant enough to be shooting at the bomb? It was impossible to tell right now. The world had shrunken down to a little circle at the center of my field of view, which contained the gaping lit hole that was the air battleship's hangar. I'd accelerated so hard and was so full of adrenaline that I was starting to get tunnel vision.

A few moments later, hornets started to fly by me. Little hornets. Not the big angry bumblebees that were the .50 machinegun rounds at the Briggs entrance. Some raced up from below, missing me by a wide margin thanks to the bomb's sheer girth. Others flew in from the sides, just barely missing. I'm guessing they've started sending people to flank me now.

Eyes still on the hangar, I reached over my shoulder and unslung my carbine. I think it's time I started shooting back… Sure, I wouldn't be able to transmute with my hands full, but squeezing a trigger a few times is a lot faster than clapping a lot…

Another Drachman flew into my path, this time at a reasonable enough distance that I couldn't swat him with the bomb. But he looked to be close enough that we could shoot each other. I raised the carbine, hugging the wooden frame to my chest as I took aim and fired. Well… _would have_ fired. But the trigger remained tightly in position. My rookie shame was now complete. I had forgotten to flip off the safety. Even that damn Drach was laughing. I couldn't hear him, but the way his head and shoulders moved, there was no mistake that he was doing just that.

Snarling, I disengaged the safety and fired. Apparently still alert enough, the flyer darted to the right, causing the bullet to miss wide. I cussed and chambered the next round, reorienting myself to lock in another shot. I'd left the 'flying' posture that I'd gotten so used to, so it's only understandable that my new orientation would be somewhat uncomfortable…

But I'll be damned if I let a little inconvenience like that beat me.

I zeroed in on his center of mass and pulled on the trigger. The shot missed wide again. Not because he dodged, but because I was a moving shooter, taking aim at a moving target. With our movements at high velocities. He laughed again, tilting his head back as his shoulders jerked about. So these guys are trained to dogfight. Figures.

He raised his own carbine and shot at me, the bullet grazing my left shoulder this time. I winced and growled.

All the while, other shots from his buddies flew past me, while others plinked into the bomb. Screw this gun. There will be lots of opportunity to train for 'jetpack' dogfights later. If there's one thing I'm good at calculating, it's controlling _air currents_.

Switching the safety back on, I slung the carbine back over my shoulder and clapped, swinging my right arm at him in a slashing arc. A razor sharp air blast extended from my glove, long enough to cover the distance between us. It sliced across his torso like a hot knife through butter, blood spilling out into the icy air like a fine red crystalline mist.

I smirked. A hit!

As I felt my momentum reach its peak just before falling, I clapped again, resuming my ascent. More bullets flew down at me, prompting me to look up and see another flyboy who'd gotten in my way. Four shots missed and struck the bomb before the fifth one grazed my back.

The silent buzz of a completed circuit rang in the back of my head as I started another transmutation, this time pulling my right arm back before pushing my open palm up at him. Another air blast surged forth like a power drill, boring into his chest like an oversized needle. Blood poured out and onto my face as I resumed my ascent, pushing his lifeless body away in annoyance when he crashed into me, heli-pack still spinning. I guess with him dead, he couldn't adjust the controls to get out of the way.

I tasted salty iron.

My eyes stung as a thick liquid flowed onto them.

Note to self: get flight goggles.

My hands probed down to my belt as I reached for my canteen. My transmutation was essentially on autopilot, keeping me on course – and the air battleship was thankfully stationary for whatever reason – but it was always good to be able to see. Popping it open, I screamed as ice cold water splashed onto my face and burned my eyes, before I wiped them away with my left glove. My vision was reddish, probably because there was still some blood, and my eyes stung more than ever now that the leftover blood mixed with that frigid water.

But at least I could see the hangar, and it was close…

Just like that, it was blocked when yet another Drachman flew into my path. She had long brown hair that was kept mostly tucked into her coat, save a pair of sidelocks that flew wildly in the wind. She fired once, twice. The third one actually grazed my right arm along most of its length. This lady was pretty good. Oh, but I'm not here to admire the enemy's skill. What am I, some kind of cliché fighter brought up in a warrior society with the perception to appreciate how good my opponents are?

Of course not. I'm a modern soldier, raised in an age where death is industrialized, in a nation built on that very same industry.

I moved to clap my hands, but she squeezed off another shot, this one tearing a bloody gash in the back of my left glove. Now see, my circles are on the _palms_. But with the glove's structural integrity compromised, in this kind of crazy airspeed? I don't know how long I've got before it flaps completely open, messing up the circle entirely. Best to keep it safe and not jerk it around unnecessarily.

Fortunately, I managed to get the transmutation in, _and_ have learned from last year's fiasco that led me to getting suckered into Being X's stupid plan: I've got at least five spare pairs spread out among my belt pouches. Of course, it'd be a real pain having to replace them out here in the open air, so it'll have to wait. In the meantime, I need to keep focus. I need at least one more transmutation, assuming she's the last obstacle between me and the hangar. And well, at this closing distance, she definitely is. Another thing I noticed at this distance?

The Drachmans' incompetence in design.

They had absolutely zero point defense guns. What, did they think they were the only ones with combat-ready aircraft? That their single layer of defense, their flyers, were enough to keep enemy flyers out? Well technically, we _didn't_ have combat aircraft. But still, their lack of foresight is glaring.

I swung my right arm in another slash like the first one, just barely hitting her head as it swept over her hair, decapitating her heli-pack instead as it caught her attempting to dart downward. I moved to clap again to enter evasive maneuvers, a split second too late. Throwing her carbine to the wind, she grabbed onto me like her life depended on it… because frankly, it did. I can't tell if any of these guys have parachutes, but from the look of things, I sincerely doubt it.

How braindead can these Drachmans be? How could they have an air battleship without point defense guns? How can they have flying soldiers without giving them parachutes? Why hasn't their damn air battleship obliterated Briggs yet despite being at what amounts to point blank range in artillery terms? Was it taking _that_ long to clear the barrels of those slugs? Not that I'm not thankful that it's taking forever, or anything… So many questions crossed my mind as this woman threatened to suffocate me with her tight embrace.

I could feel it. We were about to hit our maximum altitude… the bomb, the Drachman woman, and me. See, I would have had enough momentum to get into the hangar, but she ruined that when she crashed into me, not only hitting me with opposing force, but also adding extra weight for me to lift up…

Her right arm snaked away as she adjusted her position so that she was now on my right side, left arm keeping mine pinned, while my right arm melted into her ample bosom. I wasn't going to be transmuting anything at this rate. With her free hand, she drew her sidearm and shoved the muzzle into my chest. Yeah, commendable, I guess, but severely lacking in foresight. Kind of like what idiot engineers designed that air battleship. "Pull that trigger, and we're both dead."

"No," she shook her head. "Just you."

I laughed. "You sure? You got a parachute?"

While I couldn't see her eyes behind the polarized flight goggles, the rest of her face visibly paled. I can't believe it. They _actually_ don't have any parachutes? What utter stupidity is this? They had the initiative! They had the drop on us! They had _all the time in the world_ to put on parachutes! And they're completely wasting it! Though I suppose I can't blame them. From the way those heli-packs look, it'd be impossible to fit a parachute pack in there. Which makes it another example of built-in idiocy.

"Yeah, in case you forgot, your flying machine is broken. And the only thing keeping us up here is _my_ alchemy." I smirked.

She pushed her gun harder still into my chest, the metal grating through the winter coat, uniform, and undershirt, right into my sternum. "I can still take you out. And the mission would succeed."

I narrowed my eyes, glaring into her goggles. "And would you do it? Are you willing to die for your mission?"

Butterflies filled my stomach as we lost all upward velocity and began to fall, not unlike reaching the summit of a roller coaster track before taking the plunge. Her mouth hung open for a few moments before she finally spoke. "I…"

"I mean, what would that get you? A medal sitting on your gravestone, or something like that?" If I can scare her out of shooting, then maybe, just maybe, I can make it out of this in one piece. "Oh, and I guess your parents could put it on there at your funeral. I bet they'd be really proud of you dying for your country. Finishing the mission, and all that jazz. At least, after they get over the fact that you're _dead_."

She gritted her teeth and said nothing. But I could tell it was working. Her gun was starting to shake. Just barely. "My parents are in katorga."

"Oh." That was the first thing out of my mouth. After all, it's not the kind of news that would make you more talkative. Quite the opposite, in fact. "Sorry to hear that." In layman's terms, katorga was the Tsarist predecessor to the more infamous Soviet Gulag system. Now, while nearly 30,000 people were interned at the katorga's peak, which is of course a terrifying prospect, given it was such an inefficient expense of human resources, it had nothing on its successor, which even using official – i.e. propaganda – numbers, went all the way up to 2.5 million. Other estimates went everywhere between double that, all the way to 17 million according to the Soviets' biggest critics. However way you slice it though, the quality of living was terrible in both cases. "Did they take part in the Kyivan Uprising?"

"My parents are innocent!" Her grip on the pistol tightened as she yelled in my face. "They told me they'd let them out if I served my country. That I could petition the Tsar…"

"Well you can't petition the Tsar if you're _dead_ , can you?"

"My commanding officer promised!" her teeth had gritted, and her eyes were starting to just vaguely water.

Hang on a second… this was kind of coercive, wasn't it? "And your buddies? They also have family in katorga?"

"Most of us do," she answered. "I don't know which ones. We were told some in the unit are volunteers, to make sure we don't misbehave…"

Well… this explains a lot about the heli-packs. Two points. One, they were a hostage unit, which made them mostly expendable. Presumably, the volunteers are suicidal fanatics who don't care about parachutes. Two… these heli-packs are probably mass produced enough to be expendable as the suicide squadron that's wearing them. Gigantic Slavic countries always did have a stereotype of having enough warm bodies for human wave tactics. Not to mention the natural resources to build a ton of cheap, but efficient weapons and equipment.

"Is his word reliable?" Always undermine the enemy in whatever way you can.

"Well, he…" It felt like it was taking her forever to think. Of course, considering how everything had slowed down at the moment thanks to a combination of adrenaline and my prepubescent metabolism, it might have only taken just a couple of seconds. "He's lied before…"

Aha. There we go. "What's to say he won't keep using you until you die without ever giving the Tsar a call? For all we know, your parents are nothing but traitors to him, making you nothing but an expendable resource."

"I…" Her renewed vigor disappeared, and her hand started shaking again.

"Join me." I stared into her eyes, putting on my fiercest stare. A probing one, searching for conviction. "Your parents are as good as dead at this rate. We can change that." I was giving her a choice. She could die with uncertainty regarding her parents' fate, or live for a chance to see them again.

"Are you suggesting I commit treason?" The incredulous look on her face was delicious. "They'll execute my parents when they find out!"

"Your CO and babysitters won't be able to report your treason if they're dead, can they?" An efficient, if cold, solution to a seemingly daunting problem.

Even behind those polarized goggles, I could see her eyes widening. "How do I know you won't just kill me if I let you go?"

"That's entirely on you," I would've shrugged, but she was still holding me tight. "Either we both die or you take a chance on living."

She nodded after a few more moments of thought and holstered her pistol. "I understand." She then pulled a grenade from her belt and yanked the pin out with her mouth, keeping her thumb on the safety lever.

It was my turn to lose composure. "What are you doing!?"

"Making sure you keep your end of the bargain." She slipped around my front over to my left side and shoved her grenade-holding hand into a hole in the back of my coat that had been torn by an earlier grazing shot. Her left arm released me momentarily as she lowered down to clamp onto my waist instead. "Now do your thing, alchemist."

Depending on the design of a grenade, pulling the pin out isn't the end of the world. Most pineapple-type models came with a safety lever that let you delay the fuse until it was released. Why would you do that? To give you time to aim. Standard procedure would be to pull out the pin while your thumb was on the lever, take aim, then throw, before getting behind cover. In short, she'd gone with a makeshift deadman switch. If I killed her and her grip went limp, or she let go of the grenade, it would go off and kill me. For an expendable auxiliary, she's pretty smart.

I could only smirk as I clapped my hands and got us flying again. "You've got spunk. I like that." If I can get her to pull a genuine defection, I'll have a capable pawn with personal loyalty to me. Or at least, to my promise to free her parents… not even sure I can predict either outcome with confidence, given the lack of information, but for now, dangling a carrot of hope in front of her is all I need. One more way to make my life easier.

A powerful gust of air blew up from beneath, putting us – and the bomb – back on course for the vessel's hangar. "So about your buddies…"

"We have instructions to shoot any deserters or turncoats, yes…"

Two more of the heliboys flew up in front of us and opened fire. "So I guess there's no turning back for you, huh?"

"Like you said, it's either we both die…" She ducked into my back as a shot punched into what remained of her heli-pack. "Or I take a chance on you and possibly survive!"

I started a new transmutation and crossed my arms before spreading them out. A flick of my wrists caught each Drach in an aerokinetic lasso that allowed me to smash the two of them together into a crumpled mess of meat and metal. The danger past, I threw them away.

Flak continued to explode around us, creating a… no man's sky, if you would… a bubble of death that kept most of them at bay. Only a few could get through, and only in that blind spot for the guns that lay directly ahead of me. Still, if I had to include this as part of the performance inspection, I'd give them top marks. They would directly lead to the success of this mission.

We reached the open hangar and were greeted with a line of fire – about a dozen or so troopers who unleashed a hail of bullets in our direction. Well… this bomb was going to be in place anyway, so… With one more clap, I sent it swinging in front of us, a five ton metal shield that kept us safe as we landed on the steel flight deck. "Are you gonna keep holding on to me or what?"

"Ah…"

"Never mind, just keep doing that. In fact, you might wanna tighten your hold." As soon as I started suffocating from her renewed embrace, I clapped, holding my open palms out at the cavernous entrance. The screams of those same soldiers abruptly filled the hangar as they were sucked out of the vessel by a gigantic aerial vacuum I transmuted just past the gate. Some held on to various heavy objects, but the sheer suddenness of the event meant they didn't have the time to prepare properly. They lost their hold – and their lives – after a few seconds.

While the girl and I were also pulled that way, the cables held tight, and the bomb remained rooted to the floor. By the time the vacuum subsided, the hangar had been emptied of pretty much anyone or anything not anchored down somehow. I took a peek past the bomb and spotted one who managed to hold on to the railings.

"Not as clean as I'd hoped, but…" I unslung the carbine from my shoulder, took aim, and fired. The shot ricocheted off the wall just inches above his head. "Tch."

Before I could even chamber another round, the bulky mass of the grenade in the back of my coat disappeared and the girl yelled out something in Russian… or well… Drachman, I guess. Apparently, it meant 'fire in the hole' or something, because a second later, that grenade that had gone missing suddenly fell about a dozen feet or so from the soldier, who scrambled to his feet.

I closed my eyes as I ducked behind the bomb. A loud explosion reverberated throughout the hangar. When I opened them and peeked out to check, sure enough, he lay there unmoving, his fatigues peppered with shrapnel wounds. "Heh, nice job." I turned around to give her my compliments, finding her standing up with her back against the bomb, panting heavily. Her goggles were now raised above her hairline, big blue eyes wide with adrenaline. "You alright?"

"Y… yes, I'm fine."

We stepped out from behind the bomb and began to survey the damage. The hangar was of course, mostly unscathed save that one spot where she'd tossed the grenade. There were a couple of entrance hatches through the bulkhead, presumably leading to different sections of the vessel. The bomb wouldn't fit through those, but they would certainly fit through that main access hall down the center.

Theoretically, this bomb blowing up in the hangar might cause a bit of a ruckus, but if we could take it some place where it can deal even more damage, then I'm game for that… yes, even if it means running through even more soldiers. Because with two feet on solid ground, I've got a lot more flexibility in terms of what I can kill. As a bonus, I can possibly fulfill some of my curiosity with regards to how this air battleship remains airborne despite its physical dimensions making no sense to me.

"So where does that access hall go?"

"It should lead to the armory, then the barracks," she started. Well, that would make sense, considering you'd want your flyboys ready to take off at a moment's notice. If we got it to the armory, then that would cause some serious damage with all the firepower they're probably keeping there. "Past that is the power plant."

… I think I just found the sweet spot.

I smirked.

"If we're going to make sure there aren't any witnesses, then we're going to have to blow this thing out of the sky."

She nodded, turning to face me. "But are you sure you're up to it?"

"Hmm?"

"The odds of making it to the power plant are very… slim."

"Did you actually calculate those odds, or are you just speaking from experience?"

She opened her mouth, again pausing. "From… experience."

Right, so she wasn't an actual number crunchy person.

Klaxons started to wail. Took them long enough to mount a counter-offensive. "Well, we're gonna have to do it. No guarantees, like I said, but I'm giving you a chance to save your parents. Can't do that if they report on your treason."

She nodded and prepped her sidearm before taking cover behind the bomb. They were coming, and we both knew it. I stayed in front. Because, well, I already had a good idea of what I was going to do to the first squad of troops to arrive. As the red lights continued to swirl about the hangar and the noise of the klaxons went on, I threw away the damaged left glove, popped one of my belt pouches open, picked out a replacement and slipped it on. Taking a deep breath, I grinned widely at the prospect of not being handicapped by towing a giant bomb around. At least, not in the open air.

I undid my harness and began to march toward the access hall. Already, I could hear it, the faint rumbling of dozens of boots on the floor. Soon, they would appear. And then, I would make quick work of them.

"By the way!" she called out from behind. "You must be very confident of your abilities, Alchemist!"

I turned my head to face her. "Hmm?"

"This is _Gorinich_! The Pride of the Empire!" She raised her sidearm and fired.

I couldn't even duck. Though the bullet flew past, I wasn't sure if she'd just backstabbed me and missed, or…

A pained grunt escaped from the access hall. I turned back facing it to see that the troops had emerged from behind the corner, and one of them was now slumped behind the wall. Well… I guess that clears up any confusion. She's a really good shot. I smirked and clapped my hands.

It's show time.

~O~O~O~

 _LABORATORY SIX, FORT BRIGGS_

I'd continued to protest, of course, trying to bring up other possible solutions. As it turned out, the Briggs command staff had already gone through them all earlier, and ruled them out. They didn't want to survive by attrition. They wanted to minimize casualties. To that, how could I disagree? But there was an obvious conflict of interest between this plan involving my direct action out on the battlefield, and my vested interest in not dying.

Of course, how to put it in a way that didn't sound like petty self-interest was the trickier part. "Are you sure we can't bring out the catapult?" I asked. "If the aim does end up being off, I can try course corrections from a distance."

"Have you ever done that before?" the engineer replied. "We don't exactly know how far alchemy can reach above the ground." He was right, of course. A potential issue I'd always meant to address sooner or later was the exact limits of transmutation fuel. How far up can I fly before my connection to the tectonic and geothermal energy grids weaken? How far up until it completely disappears?

"I mean if my calculations are on point, then as long as I'm connected to the tectonic and geothermal grids, then I'm pretty sure I can boost the range to a suitable distance." Of course it stands to reason that if I'm still on the ground, then I can keep making course corrections… right?

"I guess it boils down to how good your eyeball estimates are," the engineer mused, picking up a wrench before heading over to my side. "Let's see if you can course correct this one. Sure, the mass is way different, but this is kind of a proof of concept, no?"

I nodded. If I could get this one to fly right, then I should be in the clear to get the bomb going from the catapult. "So what are we aiming for?"

"That hook up there at the other end of the lab. There's no way I'm hitting it, so a course correction is a must." If there was one thing that could make you appreciate the sheer scale of Briggs, it was the fact that it had at least a dozen laboratories the length of a football field, many of them side by side. It was perfect for performing indoor ballistics tests, which would allow them to develop not just cold-weather equipment, but temperate equipment as well.

I tightened my gloves in preparation for this feat. "Throw away." On my signal, the engineer wound up and tossed the wrench. There was, of course, no way he was going to get that thing to hit its target, and so with some quick calcs done on the fly, I clapped my hands and started a transmutation. A gust of wind burst from my open gloves, smacking into the wrench and giving it some renewed upward momentum. It accelerated like an artillery shell and shot toward the hook dangling from the ceiling… and missed by mere inches, striking reinforced concrete instead.

"Yeah, looks like you're gonna have to fly this thing up there."

I scoffed. Admittedly, I was most well-versed in levitating myself, course correcting for myself, and occasionally blowing people away from a certain distance. Based on what we needed at the moment, however, they needed far more accuracy than that… which means I need to practice an entirely new aspect, precision calcs. And that's really only something you can get through continuous practice and self-improvement.

In a simple word, this was kaizen. Or well, just another step in kaizen. A beautiful concept first introduced after the Second World War, which helped improve the quality of a company from top to bottom. So… this on to my list of things to get better at.

"I really think there should be some other way," I insisted. "We just haven't dug deep enough to-"

"Only one way is acceptable at this Fortress," a stern, icy voice cut me off. It came from somewhere behind, yet above at the same time, punctuated by the whirring of the elevator's engines. "The way of the wild: adapt or perish!"

The moment I turned my head and saw her, I was dumbstruck. Descending on the elevator was none other than General Armstrong herself, steely gaze locked squarely on _me_.

"Attention!" Major Falman declared, and we all snapped stiff.

The General didn't even wait for the platform to lock into the floor before stepping off with smooth movements. "I came down here to find out what was taking this briefing so long."

… she's not letting us stand at ease. This must be some sort of punishment in itself.

"And from what I can tell, it's because this little birdie isn't liking how everything is _not_ going her way."

I raised my left hand. "Permission to speak, ma'am?"

"Denied, Major Birdie." Her glare remained locked on me. It looks like that nickname is gonna stick no matter how much I protest too… ugh… "What you have to get into your little head is that there will _never_ be perfect circumstances. We are running out of time up there. Every second you waste debating alternatives to the plan – alternatives that have already been explored – is another second my men are getting shot at."

Admittedly, this is highly inefficient, and they'd already proven their point by demonstrating that my eyeball wasn't good enough for what was needed, but… but I don't want to die!

"If you don't adapt to this situation, Major, then you're more of a hindrance than help, in which case I'm better off tossing you at the enemy and hoping your weight is enough of a distraction," she continued, eyes squinting to emphasize her point. "But if you can just throw your impractical perfectionism aside for a few moments and perform as ordered, then perhaps we can make it through this with the minimum necessary losses."

There was no denying that this really was the most effective plan. And were it any other person of sufficient capability and reliability who was tasked with flying the bomb, I would have given it my hearty approval. But the fact that I was the one who had to do it… well… let's just say I'm starting to regret skipping OSS.

"Or is it perhaps, not that you're an incorrigible perfectionist, but that you're afraid?"

I swallowed a lump. I was caught dead to rights. "Y… yes, ma'am."

"That's natural for a child," the General went on, walking up to our group, hands tucked immaculately behind her back. "But if that child doesn't get over her fear, she's as good as dead. In order to fly, the little birdie has to be kicked out of her nest. So here is the question I posit to you, Major Birdie: what are you more afraid of? Getting shot at and possibly dying? Or _certainly_ dying when the Drachmans overrun this fort and slaughter every last one of us?"

While I sincerely doubted the possibility of the Drachmans overrunning the fort immediately, it was entirely possible that once the airship took out all of the batteries – and it was only a matter of time before its guns got repaired – it could keep shelling Briggs until it crumbled. Yes… I can definitely see how badly things can go. I bit my lip at this dilemma. Do I risk dying for the chance at surviving? Or do I listen to my self-preservation instinct, and therefore ensure that I will inevitably die?

I hate having to take chances. I prefer certainties. That was why I spent so many years perfecting my craft and becoming the greatest aerodynamic alchemist in this entire country. My acceptance into the State Alchemist program was practically assured. On the other hand, the certainty of death… is definitely a good motivator to take a chance. And General Armstrong is absolutely right in saying that we either adapt or die.

That's how the rules of evolution work. Those who are more suited to their environments survive. Those who can't change to suit it die off. Natural selection, the great culling mechanism that removes the unadaptable.

I'll do it. I'll fly that bomb up there. It's technically what I wanted to do anyway, haha… levitating shells. A hundred shells, enough to blow that blimp out of the sky.

Our eyes met again "This is an order: Strap on that harness and fly that bomb up into the airship. Set the timer and get back down here before it explodes. If you can't do that, then get out of here. You've just wasted our time. Dismissed."

We all snapped to a salute as she turned around and returned to the elevator, making her way back up to the battlements, in order to command her troops from the front.

General Armstrong was a highly respected leader. She might not have been a State Alchemist, but what she lacked for personal power, she made up for with a steely determination. Here up north, it was a giant death trap. That she managed not just to survive, but to thrive, and keep this operation running for so long, is a testament to her skills. Managing her men, who in turn managed the environment… Now I'm starting to see why Briggs has such a reputation…

"Well then!" I relaxed when the elevator disappeared above the ceiling, turning around to face the rest of the group with as good a smile and chipper tone as I could fake. "Can't keep the General waiting! Let's get to work on that bomb!"

* * *

 **AN** : So this is it. The next chapter. It's been a while, but there was a lot going on… then again, there's always a lot going on, so… Anyways, please feel free to give me your feedback, and thanks again for your continued support!


	10. IX: Gorinich

**AN:** And, here's the next one. To anyone I haven't directly answered yet concerning the 'new girl', yes, you're right, it's Visha.

So I'm probably going to be commissioning a cover image for the story. I've been thinking about this for a while now, and a monetary investment in a commission would be a nice rededication of my commitment to continue. Does anyone know any artists they think can pull off a sweet-looking portrait of Tanya rocking the State Military uniform? If you do, please PM me your suggestions, and I can compare between them. Thanks!

 **Disclaimer:** Youjo Senki is the property of Being X. Hiromu Arakawa is the genius behind FMA.

* * *

 **IX. GORINICH**

GORINICH _, AMESTRIAN AIRSPACE ABOVE FORT BRIGGS, 5 APRIL, 1918_

Before we get into the details of how I almost singlehandedly took out half a platoon of Drachman soldiers, let's get one important thing out of the way first: I never intended to be a combat rated alchemist. Developing an alchemic specialisation that allowed me to fly was for the sole purpose of impressing the brass into getting me certified. It was a party trick. Everything else I studied and prepared for involved learning, applying, experimenting on aerodynamic principles that would allow me to re-invent heavier-than-air aircraft. That is to say, anything that doesn't need balloons to fly.

Seeing as balloons were the dominant aerial technology not just in the country, but apparently the rest of the civilised world, it only seemed natural to seek to corner the market on nimble powered flight before anyone else could. And yet here I was, fighting for my life using hastily improvised combat-rated variations of my alchemy, aboard an abnormally advanced airship that was capable of deploying soldiers equipped with cheap, dispensable helicopter packs!

This is the definition of irony.

More importantly, however, I don't even understand how they could go from little blimps to an air battleship in a few short years given their unsteady political climate. Internal turmoil tends to stymie scientific advancement. Intelligence reports indicate that Drachma was behind the curve in airship development, with Aerugo in the lead, possessing a sizeable trade fleet used to cross the Southern Sea to its trade partners on the other side. Near the end of Bradley's administration, a few of these were haphazardly converted into bombers and deployed against Southern Command, who countered by pointing their artillery pieces up at the air.

He might have been a warmongering blowhard, but General Hakuro was not wrong when he said our neighbours were 'behind'. Though that claim is nevertheless subject to debate. We're only ahead in terms of anti-air, rather than aircraft development. Our advancements are purely defensive rather than offensive. In response to the Aerugan bombers, Bradley commissioned the development of dedicated anti-air weaponry catered to exploit the airship's lack of mobility, one of his last acts in office.

Had he survived the assassination - though I use this word very loosely. Soon after arriving in Central for the exam, I learned that he in fact survived the train bombing and instead died a hero, fighting alongside loyalist forces against the Central Conspiracy - he probably would have gone ahead and commissioned dedicated combat airships. Something like a predecessor to heavy bomber planes, I imagine.

So it would be completely understandable if I got extremely pissed at how the Drachmans not only inexplicably jumped from blimps to an air battleship plated with armor impervious to our AA guns, but at how they _also_ had expendable helipacks to go along with it. Combined with the irony of my situation, I have to say that the only logical explanation would be that Being X gave them access to some kind of advanced technology, and then manipulated the circumstances so that I would end up having to fight them head to head.

So in addition to making my general living hell, Being X is now mocking me with forced situational irony, like the wrathful author of a spitefic. Great. Just great.

Guess I'll just take out my frustration on these smallfry. What a waste. They probably would have been better off working in the factories. At least then their lives would have been productive, rather than thrown to the wind by some useless grudge their government holds toward Amestris.

Oh well! Time to kill everyone!

Blue light flashed, melding with the red alert into an eerie purple as my transmutation sprang into action. Powerful winds stirred about the hangar as the soldiers in the hallway began to open fire, oblivious to the fate that awaited them. A second simultaneous transmutation erected an ultra high air pressure barrier, stopping the bullets with ease while the first prepared to reach its apex. I was almost tempted to raise my hand in a stopping gesture, like Keanu Reeves in that one cyberpunk trilogy of his.

"Here! Catch!"

In the blink of an eye, the bomb had gone from sitting pretty behind me, to flying over my head, to then crashing into the platoon, which had lined up across the access hall to multiply their firepower. It smashed through the formation, scattering it like a bowling ball plowing through a ten-pin alley.

Those who didn't get turned into a viscous red paste or rout in fear were definitely shaken, their carbines missing so wildly now that I dropped my air shield to free up a transmutation slot for something else. Grenade Girl proceeded to shoot down a couple with about half a dozen rounds. Hey, at least she was hitting people with the gun, unlike a certain somebody who'd rather use alchemy!

The strategy was, of course, a simple one: kill two birds with one stone by turning the bomb into a flying bludgeon. On the one hand, I was already used to doing that, and there was no mistaking the effectiveness of this thing. On the other hand, I was getting it closer to the objective, that ever important power plant.

Now see, there's a difference between course correcting an object already in flight, and making an initial calculation. You have relatively more time. Not to mention the access hall was much closer than the hook down in the Briggs lab, and a much bigger target. I'd have gotten the wrench in there for sure. In comparison, the bomb, due to its size, only took a little bit more effort to aim. If nothing else, this was good 'starter' practice for eyeballing course corrections in the future.

The last trooper fell to the floor as one of Grenade Girl's shots put a pretty little hole between his eyes… probably more out of luck than anything else, given her previous displays of competence.

One of the few guilty pleasures I spent with my free time after hours in my past life was playing FPS games. There's nothing quite like the thrill of getting a headshot in, although I doubt I was any more excited than the average person who tried their hand at COD or CSGO. It's not like I have a bloodlust or anything like that. If anything, that I could play these games with enough discipline that they didn't ruin my performance was an indicator that I am very capable of a healthy work-life balance.

She ran up from behind, the various metallic sounds accompanying her telling me that she was reloading. "Do you plan on using that at all?"

I turned her way to see her finger pointed at the carbine still slung over my shoulder.

Oh. Right. This was a thing.

Casually letting it slide down my right arm, I held the weapon up in front of her. "If you need some more stopping power, you can have it. Though I'm not sure why you wouldn't pick up one of those many Drachman carbines instead."

She took the carbine from my hand and went on to explain her perspective as she examined it. "If I'm going to switch sides, I might as well learn how to use Amestrian guns."

"Out in the field for the first time, though?" That's actually kind of impractical… Dangerously so.

"How hard can it be?" With that, she threw a smile my way… somewhere halfway between a smirk and a smile. Wasn't sure if she was trying to look confident or cheer me up, but she was definitely in a good mood. While this little ray of sunshine would have melted the average man's heart, I'd like to point out that I wasn't so much concerned about an attractive female sending a 'happy' signal my way, as I was with the fact that this was no place to be smiling in a non-psychotic fashion. Such misplaced optimism is bound to get you killed, but with the way she handled the carbine, I was starting to wonder if she really did find it that easy.

"Right, but the calibres are different." I opened up one of my belt pockets and revealed the two spare magazines Major Falman had given me. "Ten rounds apiece. These are all the shots you get with that. Once they run out, you'll have to pick up a Drachman gun, since it matches the most abundant ammo type here."

Highly inefficient. She should just go straight to the Drachman weapons instead of flailing around with this at the start. Too many things could go wrong between running out of ammo and acquiring a new carbine.

"But I'm making a statement!" She says that with such childlike conviction. Consider that she spent who knows how long training with these people. Her comrades in arms. Either her dedication to her parents far outweighs any friendships she's formed here by far, or she also fares poorly in the empathy department, making us more similar than I first thought… "Besides, even if the ammo is limited, I can always restock at the armoury! It's right down the hall around the corner!"

"Has it occurred to you that your old buddies have probably already fortified it by now?"

"You don't seem to have any trouble breaking through them, though."

Hey, hey! You'd better pull your weight around, you understand? Sure, I appreciate that you've been helpful with the directions and all that so far, but don't think for one second that I'm going to do all the heavy lifting. Just because my alchemy is potent doesn't mean it'll solve every problem that could possibly crop up! "... yes, but we're in this together, so we both have to be functioning at peak efficiency."

In the end, I settled for the diplomatic answer, rather than the honest one. I don't want her changing her mind and jumping back to her old sinking ship. Sure, I could just kill her, but then who's going to watch my back? Who's going to point in the direction of the power plant?

Having her around increases my chances of survival. That's an extra pair of eyes, knowledge concerning the ship and its crew, and a gun that can shoot even when I'm busy transmuting things.

"Oh don't worry, Alchemist!" Grenade Girl slipped the mags into one of her belt pouches and ejected the spent casing from the carbine, "Count on me to do my part!"

"And that's all I need from you." I nodded and resumed the march forward into the access hall, heading straight for the bomb, which took up a fair amount of space, but wasn't so prohibitive that we couldn't squeeze around it… Not that we would want too, seeing as I could hear more soldiers pouring in on the other side.

Another clap heralded a powerful gust that sent the giant explosive device rolling further down the hall, the sickening crunches of flesh and bone following soon after. The bomb left at least another half dozen mangled and tenderized corpses in its wake as it went along. These people really needed to pay more attention to the tactics I was using. Sooner or later they'd have to adapt, right? Or was it that I was killing them so fast that they didn't have time to radio in their observations?

Security cameras don't exist yet, obviously, so whoever is in the control room could probably only order human wave tactics to stop us. Unfortunately, no number of humans in this tight space could possibly be enough to stop a giant five ton rolling pin of death.

Same principle as the Battle of Thermopylae, only reversed. Instead of the immovable object that was a wall of spears and shields blocking a narrow pass, it was the unstoppable force that was a giant bulletproof hunk of metal and TNT pushing through a relatively narrow hall.

You know, I never actually expected close quarters battle to be so… easy. Then again, it's not everyday that I have an all-in-one 'weapon' that was pretty much a small tank whose only flaw was lacking a gun. Not that a main gun would do much good in here. It might even just collapse the hall, keeping me from getting to where I wanted, or worse, bringing the whole structure down on us.

In about a minute, the bomb rolled into the corner wall, metal grating against metal before I cut the transmutation.

"Huh." Grenade Girl blinked as she looked at the situation. "So how are you going to get the bomb to turn right?"

"Good question." I hadn't even said anything, but it looks like she was pretty observant. This was a corner. To the right was the armoury, while on the left was more wall. There wasn't enough space for the air to gather momentum from the left, which was needed to push it to the right. The answer was instinctively obvious to me, but since she was apparently willing to play Watson to my Holmes, it couldn't hurt to explain it. This despite the fact that I was pressed for time, given the sound of boots coming from the right. "Well, if we can't push it, then we'll just pull."

The flash of a transmutation led to a burst of air gushing our way from around the corner. The bomb then began rolling to the right. Air displacement. A vacuum bubble down the hall to the right, which would suck the bomb forward, while suffocating anyone who happened to be in the area of effect… and if that didn't kill them, the bomb certainly would once it flattened them into pancakes.

"How come that didn't work last time?"

Oh, wow. She really does pay attention. Why did the bomb stay put when I sucked everyone out of the hangar? It's one thing to have copious amounts of air to push five tons the way you want, but the power of a vacuum is limited by its space. "Well first, it's more focused here in the hallway rather than out in the open. Second…" I pointed at how the bomb was lying down on its side, rolling along. "It takes less force to roll a wheel than it does to drag a brick of equivalent mass."

This was oddly enough, turning from a heart-pounding mission into a strange ad hoc aerodynamics lesson… At this rate, we'll probably get to the armoury without firing a single shot!

As the bomb continued to roll along on its death drive, screams and the sounds of gore kept coming from the other side. I couldn't help but imagine some sort of 'morale officer' standing in the armoury and ordering them to keep pushing forward, under threat of being shot from behind for 'desertion' if they refused. Why else would they keep rushing headlong into the bomb knowing that it was no good?

A few more moments, and the bomb finally rolled out into a larger space, at which point I cut out the airflow. To the left lay the bomb's nose, and past that stood racks of small arms stands with boxes of ammunition, all the way up to the wall about five meters further.

"This is it." To the right, Grenade Girl pressed against the tailfin as she took cover behind it, pushing to see if it would budge. When the bomb slowly turned from her force, she stopped. Probably testing to see just how stable it was. As for why this makeshift bomb had a tailfin at all, it's likely because they were originally planning to lob it at the airship using my catapult. And to think they built this thing while under attack. I still had a hard time wrapping my head around Briggs' proficiency. They would make for some _excellent_ manufacturers, that's for sure.

I dropped down to the floor and crawled along its length to where it began to taper off by the nose, see if I could spot anyone. Three pairs of boots on my side. I gave my little defector a tap on the shoulder and held up three fingers to let her know my findings. With a nod, she raised the carbine and chambered another round - the fourth for the initial mag, if I'm not mistaken.

Well then, time to make things a bit more interesting. First, clap to erect an airshield for myself, allowing me to step out from behind the bomb and stand in front of them with impunity. From this vantage point, the entire layout of the armoury became clear. It was an impressive arsenal, and fortunately, the explosives appeared to be stored on the other side of the room.

More importantly, I got the full count of soldiers, five in all. True to form, they started shooting at me. Uselessly, of course. It really is great that there aren't any security cameras yet. Otherwise, they would have come up with some sort of countermeasure to my airshield by now!

Now let's see… how do I deal with this. Yes, I should take a bit more time when it comes to clearing out this room. Running them over with the bomb seems tempting, but I don't want to accidentally set it off with all of this volatile materiel here. It's going to take surgical precision and sufficient speed that I can take them out before they can retreat and tell the others about my skill set.

So maybe I can start with-

 _Clack! Clack!_

Wha-

 _Clack! Clack! Clack!_

I blinked. In those brief moments, all five soldiers had gone down. Now of course the only person who could have done that was Grenade Girl. But that's impossible. Last I checked, her aim was average at best when she was… using a sidearm…

…

Meanwhile, packing a carbine, she had hit me in three shots while I was flying at high speed, at a reasonable distance. So it would stand to reason that she would easily be able to take out multiple still targets in close quarters with one shot each… despite using an unfamiliar carbine for the first time. I guess she's more of a rifle person than a pistol person.

"All clear! Let's go!" She called out.

"So just straight on?" I terminated the process and a small pile of lead dropped to the floor in front of me. I guess sometimes, just shooting the problem really is the better solution. Or well… in cases where shooting isn't applicable, just plain direct action.

"Yes."

"Alright, then." Next process… sufficient force to levitate it above the weapon racks and get it to the access hall on the other end of the room. A powerful current of air swept in from behind us, finding its way under the bomb and slowly lifting it up until it was just short of the ceiling. Didn't want to run over those ceiling lights and cause a fire or anything like that.

We crossed the armoury without incident. Just out of curiosity, I took note of where the shots went as we passed each corpse. Headshots. All of them. In quick succession.

Did I just hit the jackpot and net me a marksman? Looks like even Being X can't control the occasional bout of good luck on my end…

I lowered the bomb back to the floor as we entered the next hall, and resumed rolling it onward. This really does seem to be too easy. If this were a movie, right now would be the right time for us to encounter some serious opposition, but based on my observations so far, it really seems like Grenade Girl is by far the only competent person aboard this entire ship.

The barracks was empty, of course, considering everyone was either at their battle stations, flying around getting shot at, or dead. Nothing more than an uninteresting piece of filler.

Grenade Girl did however stop to pick up something from her bunk. Whatever it was, it was pretty small. Her little stopover finished, we continued on past the barracks to another section of the hall.

"It should be right around the corner on the left," she said, taking a stop near the end. "Maybe we could give it a turn before it hits the wall, instead of having to repeat the same thing you did last time?"

I really like how she has some sense of efficiency. Not ad verbatim, of course, but she understands that it would be easier to just do what she suggested instead of starting a whole new transmutation to get it going. Very good. "Sure. You can turn it by pushing on your end." Seems like she already had a handle of it anyway. Might as well make her a bit more useful.

Grenade Girl pushed on the tailfin, while I used the nose as a pivot point. Sure enough, it went around the corner much more smoothly than the last one, and after passing over a bump on the floor - probably some badly done welding, or something - we found ourselves in another large room.

"So, is this it, or…?" The look on her face as I turned to check up on her was some mixture of fear and loathing, like a deer in the headlights, if the deer also happened to have a grudge against the driver of the car because she knew he ran over her mother or something.

"Kapitan Kamov…" The rest of what she said, I had no idea. There weren't a lot of words, but most of them were in Drachman. The only reason I was able to make out the first two at all was because apparently 'Kapitan' comes from a similar etymological root, and the second word sounded like a surname. Given the way she said it, and her expression, the simplest conclusion would be this was her CO, who, in her own words, had lied to her previously, thereby calling his integrity into question.

I peeked around from behind the nose of the bomb, and my jaw went slightly agape. It wasn't that he was some horrifying ten foot tall monster or something like that. If anything, he looked like a stereotypical Russian officer, Ushanka over his head and thick beard, dark greatcoat covering the rest of his body.

No.

It was the fact that he was standing on top of what appeared to be a rubberized platform, next to a control panel that through a bunch of thick cables, connected to a pole surrounded by a series of rings that vaguely formed an outline of a stereotypical Christmas Tree. At the top sat an orb that crackled with electricity…

In other words, he was manning a Tesla Coil.

So… I guess Being X likes movies, if he seriously decided to take it to this level. Unbelievable.

"Ryadovoy Serebryakova…" Based on his tone, a mixture of disappointment and barely contained anger, he was about to chew her out for treason. Or something.

It was at this point that they started what looked and sounded like a dramatic exchange, the kind you'd see at the climax of a movie… a foreign movie in a language you didn't know, and without any subtitles to help you out. Grenade Girl… or well… Serebryakova, was it? She starts talking again. I could only take a stabbing guess at what words were being thrown around, but they were probably what you might expect from this sort of scenario.

It's slow, intentional, she's pouring her heart out to him. Put yourself in her shoes. Imagine that your parents are in Katorga, the pre-revolutionary cousin of the infamous Soviet Gulag System. The army takes you in, promising to liberate your parents if you could just be a good peasant and serve your Tsar with every fibre of your being.

You train for months, maybe even years, and get assigned to a unit composed of people similar to yourself, with their families held hostage. But now, the officers say that there are watchdogs planted anonymously among your number to keep your loyalties in line. So now you can't trust any of them either.

Time goes on. You fight on the Gregorian Front, and while on a campaign to suppress a communist uprising, discover that your CO has lied about a couple of things. What if he won't really tell the Tsar of how you were a good and loyal citizen? You survive that conflict, but it's not over. Instead, the army trains your unit in some newfangled flying machine technology and sticks you on a giant flying battleship to be sent down south to break through the Amestrian defense.

But then this crazy little State Alchemist tells you that she can do a better job of getting your folks out than your lying CO… and so you desert. You shoot and chuck a grenade at your former comrades, banking on the slimmest hope that maybe, this time, you won't be disappointed… but alas, the greatest thing standing in the way is your CO, manning a _Tesla Coil_.

Kamov retorts. He's served this country with nothing but the utmost loyalty, led this unit with distinction for years, and suddenly, you see that one of your men has betrayed you. Betrayed the Tsar. The Empire. His words are laced with the venom of a woman scorned. And we all know what happens when someone starts sounding like that.

I took advantage of their little "heart to heart" talk and started looking around to see how we could resolve this situation without getting zapped to death. Upon closer inspection, that little 'bump' across the threshold of the room was actually rubber. Rubber that ran along the entire cross-section of the access hall. An insulator to keep the electricity inside this room.

If they were strapped for brains, this was probably the only insulation they had, at the 'door' level. As much as I would like to just brush it off as poor design, along with most of their equipment, I couldn't entirely discard the possibility that the entire room was insulated from the rest of the ship, to ensure that if ever this coil had to be used, it wouldn't fry everything. There might even be a grounding system hidden somewhere in the walls or floor.

Which means, of course, that the only safe place in this room is that little platform where the Captain is standing. Oh sure, vacuums are non-conductive. But if those sparks hit the floor, then Serebryakova and I are toast, even if I _do_ pull that stunt on him.

So the direct method would be to just shoot him. But Serebryakova is the one serving as a distraction, and my aim sucks. He might survive and manage to zap us. Now if I try to kill him with an aerial construct, he might also last long enough to push a button before going down. Or as soon as he hears me clap, he'll just push it regardless…

There's another option I've got in mind, but it still has the same problem of there being a risk that he can set that tesla coil to kill as soon as I clap. What choice do we have, though? This is the best I can think of given the situation. And well… what was it that people started saying back in 2011? Oh, right. YOLO.

Personally, I think 'Who dares wins' is a more elegant way of expressing what I'm about to do, especially given that it's an actual special forces motto.

I took a deep breath and exhaled, the adrenaline once again coursing through my veins. Tunnel vision started to kick in as I stepped out into the open. Yes, I was in a full rush as I brought my palms together. Kamov hadn't even started to look my way yet.

In slow motion, his eyes shifted in my direction, but it was too late.

The reaction had begun.

Air swirled about us in a blinding flash as I oriented my open palms at his shoulders.

His eyes grew into saucers as his left hand reached for the console, while his right desperately attempted to draw his holstered sidearm.

My heart thumped outward at my chest, like a parasite attempting to burst forth from its unwitting host. This was the final obstacle between us and the power plant. My heightened perceptions drew out each second into ten. Such palpable tension!

Would I make it in time? Or would he get to me first? If he did, would it be the gunshot, or a lightning bolt?

Two aerial vice grips slammed into his shoulders, sending him flying off the platform and pinning him to the wall.

I grinned.

To my right, Serebryakova gasped loudly.

Kamov yelped at the sudden equivalent of a sharp one-two punch.

I walked up to the platform, each step electrifying with anticipation. It was a bit tall for someone of my height, so I had to take a much bigger step up, but once my boot met with rubber, I was set.

The transmutation continued on, keeping him in place as I examined my handiwork.

Sure. A tesla coil was a fearsome weapon that you could activate as easily as pushing one of these buttons.

But the enemy _cannot_ push a button if you disable his hand!

Time snapped back to normal as my heart steadily slowed down.

Kamov yelled at me as I turned to face the console, more out of outrage than pain.

"I dunno what you just said, but I don't like the way you said it, Captain," I joked, looking down at the various buttons, dials, toggles, and displays. "Serebryakova," I called out. "You might want to get up here."

She grunted in response and followed me onto the platform. "The Captain says we will never succeed."

"Typical." How disappointing. I was expecting something more threatening. Well… I mean, this really isn't a movie. It's not like his words are written down by a scriptwriter for maximum 'coolness'. "So how do you turn this thing off?"

The girl examined the console for a few moments before pointing at a switch in the bottom right corner. "That one."

"Great!" I flipped the switch, and the machine went dark. "And that's taken care of. Now all we have to do is kill this guy, and take the bomb to the power plant."

"Ah… yes."

Right, that sort of reluctance is _not_ the kind of thing that makes me confident. Sure, he's lied to her before, but from that tone, it's clear she still doesn't feel up to it. Well what about the others? It's entirely probable that due to the whole 'watchdog' thing, she never bothered getting to know the other people from her unit. Just a guess. "If he lives, the Tsar finds out about this, and your parents are as good as dead."

Sometimes, you have to remind people of the stakes, or else they'll get bogged down by little things like empathy and misplaced loyalties.

"You've crossed the line," I added. "Your parents or your country. There's no going in between."

Serebryakova took aim with the carbine. "I know that…"

"Then go ahead. Show me how bad you really want your parents out of that hell hole."

Again, her hands started to tremble.

Kamov said something, disappointed yet spiteful all the same.

" _Do it_."

A shot rang out.

The Captain spoke no more. The reason as plain as day when you looked at it… The wall behind his head was splattered with blood, and the fact that his face was in pristine condition indicates that she shot him through the mouth.

I clapped my hands. The vices disappeared, and he slumped into the wall. At the same time, another wind picked up from behind and pushed the bomb across the room.

And yet Serebryakova continued to stand there, carbine still raised, staring at the bloody grey matter on the wall.

I placed my hand atop the weapon. "Hey. Let's finish this."

Nothing.

"Hey!" I pushed down on the gun, meeting some slight resistance before she finally gave way. I grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a quick shake. "We're _this_ close! I can't have you freaking out on me now!"

"Y… yes, of course." She finally seemed to snap out of it. "Let's go."

We rolled the bomb through the last hall, right up to the tightened hatch of the power plant. That was it, the end of the line.

One last transmutation stood it up on its tail. I set the timer. "Once I let go of this dial, we have two minutes. Grab on tight."

The important part, of course, was remembering the way out. Because if I didn't, flying really fast would be pointless. I'd panic and get lost, and the bomb would explode, taking us down along with the ship.

Fortunately, I was paying attention to our directions.

Serebryakova wrapped her arms around my waist and gave me a nod.

I let go of the dial, starting the countdown as I fired up my flight transmutation.

We took off like a bullet.

Flying inside cramped spaces was a new kind of challenge, but it was manageable so long as I knew the lay of the land, and what to avoid. If anything, I was basking in a freedom that I haven't felt since before I stepped off the train in North City. Oh sure, that bomb was about to blow, but the last thing I should've been doing was thinking about that. Doing so instead of focusing on navigating the pathway to the hangar would be disastrous.

I twisted and turned with each corner, flying past the tesla coil room in a breeze. Cleared the barracks. The armoury.

Finally, I made the last turn to the hangar.

There was a whole platoon of soldiers formed up and ready to shoot at us.

And the best part?

They weren't strapped in or anything like that.

Ah, there's certainly something I'm really starting to love about this world: if you kill all the witnesses, there won't be any security cameras to warn their comrades about how you fight!

I clapped. We dropped to the floor, airshield protecting us from the firestorm as a vacuum bubble exploded outside the hangar. It felt like deja vu, soldiers getting sucked out of the large chamber. The difference was that this time, we didn't have a bomb to keep us grounded.

First, I giggled… and then, I broke into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, as the vacuum pulled us out along with all several dozen troops in the hangar. The shift from the horizontal force of being sucked to the vertical force of a gravitic freefall was so subtle I barely noticed it.

The next thing I knew, we were plummeting straight down toward what was once pure white spring snow, now tarnished by spent casings, explosions, corpses, and blasted wrecks of various types of machinery.

My vision tunneled again as my heart went back to pounding like a maddened drummer. There really doesn't seem to be anything quite like an adrenaline rush.

I might actually start enjoying this sort of thing!

No. No. No.

Gotta focus. A rush is temporary. Letting it carry you away is a sure ticket to a horrible death. Get out of the moment. Think about the long term. There's so much more for me to do after finishing this mission. Building up the air force. Inventing planes… maybe even choppers. Heh, maybe I can reverse engineer these stupid heli-packs they threw at us. Make a fortune off of aircraft royalties. Developing that prime real estate into a profitable apartment complex. Maybe even use some discretionary income to play the stock market. Last I heard, the Youswell Mining Corporation found a new gold vein in a recent prospecting survey. They're planning to make an IPO to fund the development of a mining expansion into that vein. Imagine the dividends from owning some shares in a company that literally just struck gold!

Which is why I shook my head, near-frozen saliva flying out of my mouth as I put my gloves together.

Our trajectory twisted by 60 degrees as our freefall turned into a diagonal beeline aimed down at Briggs' battlements. I think they figured out who we were by now, otherwise they'd be shooting at me. After all, I'm the only one here flying around without a bulky heli-pack.

We came in hard and fast, the only thing stopping us from crashing into the concrete a last-second buffer of retro-blow that slowed us down. Not soon enough, apparently.

We tumbled a few yards across the platform before coming to a stop.

I managed to get to a kneeling position just in time to hear a deafening roar.

There it was, the air battleship exploding in a spectacular fireball that split the superstructure in half.

It was beautiful! All my hard work and quick thinking in getting a turncoat finally paid off!

About a second later, the flight envelope burst in a fabulous secondary explosion that sent the vessel's scrapped airframe spiraling down into the white snow beneath. That told me everything I needed to know about just how poorly thought out this design was: just like the infamous Hindenburg, it was using hydrogen for its floatation, rather than helium.

The circle of Drachman idiocy is complete...

I finished getting back up on my feet and raised my hands in the air. "Tamaya!"

Nothing like celebrating an amazing fireworks show with a traditional Japanese fireworks cheer.

… and nothing ruins that moment quite like being surrounded by soldiers who were supposed to be on your side and having them point all their guns at you.

What the hell.

"'Well done, Major Birdie', is what I would say, considering you've accomplished the mission."

Oh, I know that harsh icy voice… I gulped as I turned my attention toward _her_.

"But you have a lot of explaining to do concerning _that_." General Armstrong drew her sword and pointed it over at Serebryakova, who, having dropped the carbine on the floor, was on her knees, keeping her hands behind her head as she bowed down.

"Oh… right…" Now, _technically_ , I didn't _have_ to keep her. Maybe I could let Briggs have her as a POW. I mean, given how thorough they are, I doubt there are any other survivors. I'm sure they'll put her to very effective use in the interrogation room. But see, here's the thing: I did HR for… what, 10 years? Corporate life. A simple existence that operates on principles of efficiency, and rules to ensure that that efficiency is maintained. Reward the productive, discipline the unproductive… if they don't reform after repeated disciplinary action, remove them for their inefficiency.

So here's the clincher.

By recruiting Serebryakova to my side, I'd effectively made a business proposition to her: help me blow this ship up, and I'll help you get your parents out of Katorga. She accepted, and did so not in return for regular pay, but for the sake of something far more valuable to most people: family.

Is that too high a salary for me to pay? Perhaps. But she was willing to betray her country, if with some slight difficulty, for a million to one chance at getting her parents back. She's a skilled marksman, which makes up for my greatest shortcoming, that being combat proficiency. Oh sure, I'll definitely go through boot camp and OSS after this in order to learn how to shoot properly. But in the meantime, she can be my gun. I mean… there are other things you could use a gun for outside of fighting on the front lines, right?

But the point is, I made a deal. She agreed to pay it forward. She was highly qualified for what I needed. I will probably need her in the future as well, in case they decide to send me back out - oh please, no! - which means I'll need someone to watch my back. From this probationary period, I've seen her provide me with directions, and gun down most of her former colleagues without much thought. The only hangup was the hesitation with her commander. But now that he's gone, it's not like there's anyone else she'll have trouble shooting again.

In short, while I sincerely doubt that I can actually follow through on my end of the bargain, which… irritates me to no end, because it means I made a proposition that I couldn't handle, I can probably use her for the short to medium term. Yes, that makes me no different from her Captain, who probably would never have called up about letting her parents out. But at least I can get some more mileage out of her because… well… the odds of getting her parents out were honestly higher if she'd just stuck around and kept reminding her Captain to make the call.

Hell, she probably would've kept serving out of gratitude, or something!

So naturally, she _should_ be more understanding if I happen to take longer to rescue her parents. I mean, to do that, we'd probably have to either conquer Drachma, or do something reckless, like bust into the Tsar's palace and at gunpoint, have him let her folks go.

In conclusion, I've got a loyal pawn who is certainly far more useful than that overly emotional good for nothing drug addict who shoved me into the train. Why waste such a human resource? I say, give her to me, and let me use her until she wears out. It's win-win, General!

"Yes?"

"Right… it's a long story, General. Where would you like me to start?"

General Armstrong's eyes narrowed. Presumably, she would like me to get to the point, instead of meandering on, and that is indeed the more efficient thing to do. In which case… "From the beginning. But be concise."

Or she could want the whole thing in a compact form that only contains the important details… that's also an efficient way to go about it. Can't underestimate the importance of context, after all!

"Yes, well it all started on the way up…"

~O~O~O~

 _PRIME MINISTER'S OFFICE, WINTER PALACE, ALEXOGRAD, 5 APRIL, 1918_

The Prime Minister stared out his window at the snow that descended in the darkness. Spring snowfall was gentle. But that really didn't say much about a city as northerly as the Drachman capital. Even in the summer, they had occasional snowfall. Perhaps in the lower latitudes, there would be relatively warm months without snow. But up here, there was no respite.

Such was life in Alexograd.

In an unobtrusive corner of the room, a phonograph played Sabatov's latest musical, the current piece a contemplative one evocative of travelling along a snowy dirt road in the countryside.

This was a good evening, perfect for just relaxing as the tedious day came to a close. The recently-passed bill that had been deposited at his office had been reviewed and signed. Tomorrow, it would be ferried to the Tsar, and he would give the final word on the matter.

But for now, he was done. There was always something about the gentle fall of snowflakes that mesmerized him. Each one was of a similar crystal structure, and yet at the same time, unique compared to all the others. In a way, it reminded him of people. And just like snowflakes, enough people cooperating on a single task, would be able to overwhelm even a mighty city such as the capital.

The intercom on his desk crackled with static, and a stoic female voice spoke. "Your Excellency, I have Colonel-General Mikoyan to see you. He says it is urgent."

"Thank you, Katya," he answered. "Send him in, then. No need for tea. We will not be long."

"Understood, Your Excellency."

A few short moments later, and the door opened, revealing a middle-aged man in full dress uniform. "Grisha."

"Fedya." The Prime Minister turned around to give the General a nod of acknowledgement. He gestured toward one of the couches that faced his desk, before taking his own comfortable seating. "So tell me, what is this urgency?"

Mikoyan removed his peaked cap and took the Prime Minister's offer of a couch. " _Gorinich_ has been destroyed." His voice was bitter. "The Amestrians are scavenging the wreckage."

The Prime Minister was not as good at maintaining a stoic face. Instead, it twisted into one that could be interpreted as concern. "Are there any survivors?"

The General shook his head.

The concern grew more pronounced. "I see…"

"The 19th Division entered visual range just before it exploded," Mikoyan placed a number of written reports on the Prime Minister's desk. "I have multiple scout reports observing two alchemic reactions in close proximity to _Gorinich_ and Fort Briggs."

"So they had State Alchemists providing assistance, then?"

"One, Grisha." The General said flatly.

"I beg your pardon?" The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow, demanding clarification.

"It was a single State Alchemist. A _flying_ one. They appear to have boarded _Gorinich_ beforehand and sabotaged it from within. The first transmutation was a violent escape from the hangar. The second, a flight back toward Briggs."

The Prime Minister rubbed his thick beard in thought, the facial hair evocative of the traditional boyar's grooming throughout the centuries. "This… flying State Alchemist. Do we know anything about him?"

"Nothing outside the reports. And even then, the scouts were only able to determine their size… small. Like a child. They conclude, however, that the alchemist could fly because they could transmute the air."

"A small alchemist singlehandedly destroying the Pride of the Empire." The Prime Minister sighed. "Could it be their legendary Fullmetal Alchemist?"

"I cannot say. Our intelligence concerning their State Alchemists has been sketchy."

"So it may or may not be the Fullmetal Alchemist." Perhaps it was better to err on the side of caution, then. "I suppose a moniker will have to do. For someone that small to cause so much damage. One might be reminded of a Poroniec."

"A Poroniec at Briggs, eh?" Mikoyan chuckled darkly. "It certainly does drive the imagination wild. A small childlike demon slaying hundreds of our brave men and women."

The Prime Minister was less than amused. Still, this did not mean he wasn't… comforted. "If it is a Poroniec that our people must hear about at Briggs, then surely, God will send it to hell."

"And will the Army serve as God's avenging angel?"

The Prime Minister stood up from his seat and turned away to gaze out the window. "You know what to do, Colonel-General Mikoyan. When God speaks, you know exactly what to do."

Mikoyan followed suit and vacated the couch, taking a deep bow. "Indeed. God speaks clearly, Prime Minister Yefimov." Without another word, the General left the office.

Prime Minister Yefimov's gaze remained transfixed outside at the falling snow… and at the darkness that consumed it with a seemingly endless hunger.

People were just like snow that way. Here, at the northern end of the world, where the cold black night gnawed relentlessly even during summer.

Such was life in Alexograd.

* * *

 **AN** : Sorry for the once again disappointingly slow update. Some things happened during the week after I posted the last chapter, and I'm just getting over them. Personal matters. Got my fingers crossed that the next one will happen faster.


	11. X: Philosophising Stone, Elixir of Life

**AN:** So, here we are, another chapter up after... yeesh... two months. Gotta work on my posting time, of course. But, hey, it's here. My Beta, JAW, has been loads of help keeping me on track. Now if I could just hurry a teensy bit more...

 **Disclaimer** : FMA is the property of Hiromu Arakawa, and Youjo Senki is the property of Being X. I think I've run out of lame disclaimer jokes a few chapters back, so I'll spare you the trouble.

* * *

 **X. PHILOSOPHISING STONE, ELIXIR OF LIFE  
**

 _INTERROGATION ROOM THREE, FORT BRIGGS, 5 APRIL, 1918_

There's a lot that can be said about a traitor. A traitor holds no loyalties, and so they should be rewarded as a traitor deserves. That is to say, with the suspicion you might expect from someone who was willing to betray an army that she had once killed things for.

A traitor cuts off one tie, and establishes another that is extremely tenuous at best. No matter how many times she proves herself to be loyal to this new cause or superior, she will always be marked by the betrayal she committed against her previous benefactor.

Her old comrades will despise her for her abandoning the cause out of a perceived self-centeredness that goes against the principle of fighting for something greater than herself.

Those to whom she is assigned will not even see her as a comrade. She is an outsider in her own unit. A stranger who was brought here because she did something that some higher-ups found useful.

A traitor's life will be a difficult one, to say the least.

And for all intents and purposes, I am a traitor.

I betrayed the Empire for a chance at getting my parents back. I only hope that this alchemist will give me that chance...

Two large Amestrian soldiers, with their black, fur-trimmed winter coats over their blue uniforms, escorted me down the hall, to a section of the fort sealed with heavy metal doors. These opened up, and we marched into this restricted area, lined with pairs of doors, stopping at the third.

They opened one of the two doors, and led me inside, shutting it behind us.

The room was cramped, dimly lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, its light directed down at an uncomfortable looking chair. Not so much uncomfortably utilitarian as it was intentionally uncomfortable. To increase the stress of its intended user… me.

At their gesturing, I sat down in the low-built chair, squeezing in as much as I could, as if the space between the cold steel armrests was only enough to accommodate a child.

Across me, on one end of the room, a black glass panel - presumably one-way - stood in place of a typical concrete wall. As expected of the two doors. One led to the interrogation room, and the other to a separate observation room. Who knows who stood behind that panel?

The two soldiers took their place and stood at ease on either side of the door.

A clock counted each second with a loud, conspicuous tick, as it hung invisibly somewhere in the darkness. Almost as if it were testing my patience and resolve, mocking me with its rule over time.

But I am a stone.

I breathe ever so slowly, like the northern wind passing through a winter forest on the slopes of the Iseta Mountains.

His breath is gentle, silent. It does not shake the snow from the leaves, nor does it bother the elk as they graze, and the wolves, as they hunt…

~O~O~O~

 _SUKHOI WILDERNESS, ISETA MOUNTAINS, 12 AUGUST, 1905_

"I am a stone."

"But I'm not a stone, Grampa!" I giggle as I help him tie the elk we had just caught to the post. The animal whines like a badly oiled door. "I'm Visha!"

"And today, Visha will learn to be a stone." With a warm smile and a twinkle in his blue eyes, Grampa ruffles my hair. His beard is white as the snow that surrounds us.

Grampa always has something useful to say, like how the egg cannot teach a hen. Of course an egg can't teach a hen! The egg has not yet hatched! And a chick cannot teach a hen, because it has not learned anything yet! Only a hen can teach an egg.

We finish tying the elk to the post and step back to admire our handiwork. "He's very loud, Grampa. Won't the wolves come for him?"

Grampa takes my hand and we march uphill to a pile of snow gathered around some bushes. "The wolf always comes, Visha. The question is if you will smile or cry when he does."

I tilt my head, somewhat confused, as I follow him behind the snow pile. "But I should keep quiet so the wolf doesn't get me, right?"

Grampa only chuckles as he crouches behind the pile. He takes the hunting rifle he always carries around and hands it to me. It still feels heavy even after a week, but I'm starting to get used to the weight. He once said that it is an old model, even older than Papa. It doesn't have a magazine, so it can only hold one bullet at a time. But it is reliable, and hasn't broken in all those years.

I'd practised with it since Papa and Yuriy left me and Mama with Grampa last week. They said they were going to guard the rail line to the east, so we should stay here until they got back.

Out here in the Iseta, we need these guns to survive. So Grampa has been teaching me how to use it.

It started with a tree, and then some cans further away.

"Now," Grampa says, "We will hunt the wolf."

I nod slowly, still unsure. Can I shoot the wolf, before he eats the elk? But doesn't he also need to eat the elk so he can survive? "Does this mean the elk is bait?"

"Just like a worm on a hook, yes." Grampa compares hunting a wolf to fishing. Both require patience, practise, and skill with the main tool. For fishing, it is the rod and line. For hunting, it is with the rifle. "Remember what I said earlier, Visha."

"I am a stone," I repeat what he says, still not quite clear about what he means.

"Look around you." Grampa refers to the snow-covered mountain slope, broken only by shrubs and trees. "Where are the stones?"

I squint as I look around me. Snow is everywhere, from the ground below, to the leaves of the trees above. I can see boulders far away. But the stones… What stones? I shake my head.

Grampa smiles and plants his boot in front of me, using it to sweep the snow away to reveal a small, flat stone. "The stone doesn't move, so it goes beneath notice. When snow falls, the stone is not bothered. It remains still even when buried. When the sun shines, it will not cry at the heat."

I quietly nod. So the stone is strong.

"When you are a stone, Visha, nothing can shake you. And when nothing can shake you, your aim will be true."

Ohhhhh.

"I… am a stone…" I repeat it again, this time with more weight as the meaning of the words sink in. If I am strong and steady as a stone, my aim will be better. "Does it also mean that when the wolf comes, the stone does not run away?"

Grampa pats me on the head. "Exactly. The stone is not afraid that the wolf is coming to get them. Instead, she waits quietly for the wolf to line up with her sights for the perfect shot."

He inspects the hunting rifle to see if anything has gone amiss. After deciding that it is good enough to use without some cleaning, Grampa nods in approval and chambers a bullet. It's big, maybe enough to kill the wolf in one shot.

"This looks good," Grampa remarks, before taking aim with the rifle. I'm not sure what, though. There aren't any wolves yet that I can see. The trees, maybe? "Yes, perfect." He sets the rifle down between us, laying it against the snow pile, barrel pointing up. Soon, he too follows. "Now, it is time to keep watch." He hands me a pair of binoculars. "Once you spot the wolf, take the rifle and aim at his eye. I will assist you when that happens."

"What will you do in the meantime, Grampa?"

Grampa smiles and draws his pipe box from his rucksack. Opening it and preparing to smoke, he says, "I will just be here relaxing. Grampa is not getting any younger, but you, Visha, you have a long way to go." He lights the pipe and closes his eyes as he starts to smoke.

The smokey smell of Grampa's cabin fills the air around us. He always smokes indoors, but only when I'm playing or practising outside. By the time I come back in, he's done smoking and the air is mostly clear, but the smell lingers in the cabin. I don't really like it, but I've gotten used to it.

I sling the binoculars around my neck and start scanning the mountainside for the wolf. The elk continues to make noise, but not as loudly as a few minutes ago. It must be starting to get tired.

I take some time to look down again at the stones Grampa dug up near my feet. They might not look like much to most people, even to me. But today, I'm learning a new lesson about stones.

Suddenly, the elk's crying becomes panicked, and I look up, binoculars at the ready. There. Just behind a bush in the distance. I sea a gleam of reflected sunlight. In a few moments, the wolf emerges, creeping slowly in the snow, taking an indirect path as he hides behind a large rock now. He takes his time, not wanting to give the elk a chance to see him and escape.

But the elk can't escape. We have tied him to that post, so the wolf can get him.

I squat down and whisper. "Grampa! The wolf is here!"

Grampa smiles and taps his pipe against his other hand. The still burning tobacco falls out into his cold palm, and he drops it into the earth next to the stone, before covering it back with snow. "Good eyes, Visha," he says, and takes the binoculars from me to see for himself. In a few seconds, he nods. "Yes, this one will make you a handsome coat."

He points at the rifle lying against the snow pile between us.

"Now remember what I told you."

I nod and pick up the rifle, bracing the stock against my shoulder and setting the receiver on top of the compacted snow as I aim at the wolf's eye. Where the wolf moves, my sight follows, always trying to land on his eye. It's not easy. I've been shooting at cans for a week, but a wolf moves, and he does so like he knows someone might try to get him.

Every chance he gets, he gets behind a rock, or a bush, or a pile of snow, but each time, he's a little closer to the elk. Seeing it shrieking raggedly, I realize that my breathing is much like it.

"I am a stone," I mutter. I try to calm my nerves. "I am a stone."

Suddenly, I feel a hand on my other shoulder. Grampa starts to whisper as well. "I am a stone. I do not move."

My breathing slows down, as if my body obeys Grampa's words. The rifle sways less as I track the wolf, sneaking from cover to cover.

"I take my time. I let him come closer."

Now stones don't actually do those things, but this is not just a stone. This is Visha the Stone. Somehow, I'm starting to get used to the wolf's movements, and he becomes more predictable as he gets closer. "I keep my aim on his eye," I mutter.

"I need only one bullet."

Grampa really is clever. What used to make me worry at the start of the week was that the rifle could only chamber one bullet at a time. If I missed, the target was still standing. But he would always remind me: Never think, 'I have only one bullet'. Always think, 'I need only one bullet'.

This would encourage me, that I could hit with just one bullet. It doesn't always work, but over the week I could tell I was getting better.

"I tremble not. I fear nothing."

Fear and trembling go together, Grampa says. But fear is the cause of the trembling. Stop fearing. Stop trembling. Keep your sights on his eye, because you need only one bullet.

"I am a stone. I do not miss."

Gently, my finger rests against the trigger, ready to fire as the wolf gets behind his last hiding spot, a bush a short dash away from the tired bleating elk in the snowy clearing. The wolf really is a talented hunter. This whole time I've had to struggle just to keep my sight on his eye. Even then, I can never get a clear shot because of how well he hides behind cover. And now, the only thing standing between him and his food is me. "I am a stone," I mutter. "I make him stumble."

"Get ready, Visha. He will make his move soon…"

I don't even nod. Nodding will set my eyes off the sight. I have to focus on the sight, and keep the sight on the wolf. This is it. He crouches down, and prepares to pounce. My finger tightens around the trigger.

In a burst of snow, the wolf runs toward the elk.

"Now, Visha!" Grampa yells.

It looks so strangely slow to me, like I can see every detail as he rushes forth.

My finger begins to squeeze the trigger. But it goes no further than that. I'm too caught up as I watch the wolf move. He's putting everything he has into this last sprint. His legs are full of power, pushing him forward in a surge with each step. He is desperate to catch the elk, even if he sees it can't go anywhere. His eye twinkles with starry focus and determination. He knows that if he is too slow, he won't be able to eat. Or maybe worse, he knows he will be shot. That is why the wolf is giving it everything.

He is now halfway to the elk. His jaw begins to open. He's preparing to bite.

I can shoot him now if I wanted to. My sights remain on his eye.

I can't. No... I can… but I won't.

He is beautiful. Not as a coat, or a trophy on the wall. Certainly not beautiful when dead. His beauty is right here, right now, when he is alive and hungry. How he lives by putting everything he has into living for another day. He thinks not about the fear of being killed, but only the carefulness of getting the food instead of getting caught. Because if he is caught, how can he eat? Nothing can move his determination. And nothing will stop him from eating his fill.

Not even me.

I take my finger away from the trigger, and set the rifle down, stock in the snow.

The wolf catches the elk by the leg, his jaw tearing deep into it on first bite.

"Visha…" Grampa speaks softly, as the wolf gets a taste of his meal.

I turn around to see Grampa looking confused. Maybe even disappointed. "I won't shoot him, Grampa," I say, while my mouth opens into a smile. "The wolf is a stone too!"

Grampa chuckles when he hears me say that. He relaxes and puts a hand on my shoulder, before lighting another wad of tobacco for his pipe. He takes a puff of smoke and sends it back out into the air, before speaking. "To think you would learn to respect the wolf so quickly. Yes, you're right. The wolf is a stone too."

He looks up wistfully at the clear blue sky. "Grampa?"

"I think the wolf has earned his meal for today." He says, as he starts packing our things. "We'll catch him next time. But for now, this lesson is enough. It's good that you've learned to smile at the wolf. To show him you aren't scared. To show him that he has earned your respect. One, the other, both… they all work out."

I help him pack, ejecting the bullet from the rifle. Behind us, after having eaten his fill, the wolf howls in satisfaction. And what a lesson it is… "I am a stone," I mutter with a smile, then whistle a happy tune as we prepare to head back to Grampa's cabin.

~O~O~O~

 _INTERROGATION ROOM THREE_

"ARE YOU REALLY A DEFECTOR!?" I woke up startled, and looking up at a large, dark-skinned Amestrian soldier who was yelling in my face, his mouth so close I could smell what he ate this morning. Coffee and some kind of meat ration. But mostly coffee. Droplets of saliva flew at me, at least one landing in my eye.

"Well I-"

"OR ARE YOU A DRACHMAN SPY?!"

"Well I'm Drachman, but-"

"WHO IS YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER, SPY!?" Before I could finish, he opened his mouth again, this time with a different question. Not a follow-up on whether I was a spy, or anything related to the previous one. It was disjointed, different. What game was he playing here?

"His name is-"

"IS HE HERE TOO? IS HE ALSO SPYING ON US!?" … was it really natural for Amestrian interrogators to jump to conclusions without first getting an answer?

"I-"

"HOW MANY DRACHMAN SPIES ARE YOU WORKING WITH?!" Too many conclusions. How did they even get to there from the first question?

"WHAT PROVINCE ARE YOU FROM!?" Another interrogator barked, this time from the left side, rather than the right. This one was equally large and broad-shouldered, albeit fair-skinned and dark haired. His sideburns grew all the way down to the side of his face.

"I'm from-"

"IS IT WHERE THEY TRAIN ALL THE SPIES!?"

"Wha… my provin-"

"WHO DOES NUMBER TWO WORK FOR!?"

"I don't even-" Who is Number Two? I never heard of anyone called that. It's probably some kind of callsign, but certainly none I'm familiar with...

"WHAT AGENCY ARE YOU WITH!?" At this point, I started to wonder if they really wanted to learn anything I knew at all, or if they were just toying around with me. Messing with my mind for entertainment, before sending me off into that State Alchemist's custody.

"I'm not-"

"YOU'RE A LIAR, AND A DRACHMAN SPY!"

That wasn't even a question… And how could you tell I was lying, when you haven't even let me tell you _anything_ yet?

I'm not one to consider myself an expert at interrogation, but this situation hardly seemed like it would be any sort of productive.

It all started when they locked me up in this dark room, in this uncomfortable chair, with a pair of guards quietly standing by either side of the door.

The clock was loud and intrusive, almost as if they wanted you to know that time was slowly ticking by, until that sound eventually melded into the background noise, and was subsumed into the mounting tinnitus in my ears. Then I'd lose track of time, right?

Which I did, actually. I had no idea how long it had been when the door finally opened, and these two men stepped inside. Officers of some sort, from what I could see of their shoulder boards. The Army had given us some idea of what Amestrian ranks were, and while I paid close attention at the time, the simplicity of the ranking system made it so easy to categorize them, but eventually harder to distinguish between ranks within that class.

No gold stripes, a pure blue shoulder board, meant they were grunts. Buck privates. One stripe was an NCO. Three was a junior officer. Four was a field officer. Two regular stripes flanking a broad stripe was a general officer. The number of stars denoted how high one was within that particular category, usually starting from none or one, to three. The Führer had four, which sort of makes him very special, I'd imagine.

These two officers then grabbed some chairs and sat down against the wall with the one-way glass, across the room from me. They let the time go by again. Eventually, they were served some coffee, and the guards changed shifts. Then what felt like a short time later, they got more coffee, and some newspapers.

They probably had a hard time reading, seeing as nobody turned on the lights…

Then they got more coffee.

I suspect they were trying to disorient me. In which case, they were doing pretty good. I already lost my sense of time earlier. Now it had gotten even worse, if that were somehow possible.

Finally, after five or six servings of coffee, they stood up… and left the room.

I think it was about that time that I fell asleep.

And now, I had woken up to this. Still groggy, they bombarded me with questions, until I lost count of how many they'd asked, and what questions they were asking. Probably more disorientation…

Eventually, they stopped. One went back to stand next to their seats, as the other pulled out a revolver. Now, what…

"Shall we play a game?" A… game? "Drachman Roulette! I bet you know ALL about that, don't you, SPY?"

Oh.

The officer swung the cylinder open and unloaded all the bullets, pocketing five and holding up the last one for me to see. .38 calibre, from what I could tell. The specifics, not so much. It was Amestrian, after all.

"Yes, we heard about what your people did in Gregoria, to get the Reds to talk…" He slipped the round back into the cylinder and held the revolver up as he gave it a spin. When it stopped, I saw a glint of metal fall into his sleeve.

Surprising. I thought a Briggs officer wouldn't mind playing with death a little. Or perhaps, they were simply fearless, not stupid…

"So now let's see if you like the taste of your own medicine." He lowered the gun into view, and moved to close the cylinder… and the bullet fell back in, just as he snapped it shut.

Oh boy.

He held the gun up to his temple, as if attempting to demonstrate how it worked.

"You, um… might not want to do that. Your gun is loaded."

"Yes, I know, SPY! That's the POINT!"

Click.

Empty chamber.

"You don't understand. There is _really_ a bullet in your gun."

He shoved the barrel in my face. No. No. No.

"Yes, and if you don't talk, now, SPY, it might blow your brains out!"

Click.

I've heard the stories of how Drachman Roulette worked. I don't know the exact odds, but I do know that for each time you pull the trigger, the more likely it is for the chamber to be a loaded one next time.

"I would talk, if you could just let me finish, Sir." Because really, none of what they're doing right now is necessary when you're fully cooperative.

"WHO DOES NUMBER TWO WORK FOR!?"

Not this again…

As he waved the gun in my face and began to pull the trigger, I decided that I wasn't going to die by some unfortunate interrogation accident. I kicked into the floor, and chair still stuck to my butt, I tackled his gut head first before the others could react.

He still managed to pull it though, as the loud discharge of a pistol in close quarters reported itself. In the chaos, the guards managed to restrain me, while someone turned the lights on.

I think their little charade is all messed up now. I hope nobody actually got hurt, though.

I looked around, and saw a hole in the door.

Said door opened, and a tall, lanky officer with greyed hair and a peculiar squint entered the room. Everybody saluted him, from the guards, to the earlier big scary interrogators… the latter, in much more of a panic, considering how this officer appeared to have lost a bit of hair on the left side of his head, likely thanks to that stray bullet…

Well… this was awkward.

After returning their salutes with his own, he walked up to me and held up a clipboard with some paper strapped on, presumably a list of questions, or space to take notes.

"I'm Major Vato Falman," he introduced himself with a voice that was completely calm, considering how he recently almost lost his head, "And I'm here to ask you a few questions."

Despite the ordeal, disorientation, the chaos of the last few moments, and the awkward feeling in my lower gut that I had to use the latrine pretty soon, I smiled back at him. Not really out of relief, though some could see it that way.

It was something else entirely...

The wolf had finally arrived, and I greeted him with a smile.

Because I am a stone.

~O~O~O~

 _VISITING OFFICER'S QUARTERS 403, LEVEL 4, FORT BRIGGS_

This room is almost empty. Emptier than it has any right to be. When they said I was getting to stay at one of several visiting officers' quarters, I was hoping they at least had some kind of furnishing. Something more than just… a bed, an end table, a clothes chest, a chair, and a bare desk without any drawers. Inside the chest also sat a typewriter and a ream of papers, presumably for that inspection report I was going to write. Oh, well at least the heater's running just fine. A broken heater would be the death of anyone way up north.

But really? Not even a flower in a little vase on the desk? Okay, maybe not a living flower, that might be too much to ask. But… maybe a nice little framed picture? No? And that damn coffee. I have to _pay_ for a fucking cup of coffee? I mean… I'm a libertarian. I will gladly pay for a cup of coffee in the proper context, even if it tastes mediocre - once I find out, though, I'll make sure to find a competitor that makes better coffee, so I don't have to expose myself again to an inferior product.

But this is the _military_. _Everything_ is issued to you. Especially essentials like coffee and tea. Yes, it might be rationed, especially here up north, but everyone gets an equal cut. Which only makes sense, because as someone once said, the modern military is a social welfare program, not a private enterprise. Taxes fund it, not capital investments. The closest we get to a private military enterprise - not counting mercenary units, of course - is the pre-Marian Roman Army, where only landed taxpayers were allowed to enlist, and had to buy their own equipment. Units were divided by class, with the skirmishers - who could only afford javelins - at the bottom, and the cavalry - who could afford horses - at the top.

So unless the State Military was somehow run and funded like the pre-Marian Republican Army - which it's not - then I expect to get my entitlements. Socialism might be an ugly, inefficient thing, but that doesn't mean I won't exploit an existing social program's benefits if I happen to be entitled to them. Which is why having to pay for coffee in the military is such an egregious anomaly to me.

I leered at that cup of coffee on the desk, faint steam still rising from it despite the arctic temperatures in this region. It had cost me quite a bit to get. More than the cenz I had to fork over, there was a certain dignity I lost…

 _MESS HALL, LEVEL 3, FORT BRIGGS_

"They told me I had to _pay_ for the coffee around here," I looked up at the cook at the mess counter, minding his own business as he dished out today's rations to a short line of people fortunate enough to be off-duty. Said rations consisted of gruel, salt and pepper packs, a couple of hardtacks, and some kind of smelly meat product of unidentified origin, which looked like it had been passed through an industrial grinder at least three times, just to pulverize the bone into off-white speckles that seemed to be evenly distributed throughout the pinkish brown mass.

Good thing I was only here for the coffee…

"So how much are we talking about for a standard cup?"

The cook made a confused sound as he looked to the left, then to the right, and seeing nobody, scratched his head. It was only when I cleared my throat that he looked down in my direction. What, didn't he see my fidgety cowlick wiggling about as I grew increasingly impatient? Jeez. "Oh. Huh." He blinked and checked the shoulder boards on my winter coat. "Major? Now that's something you don't see everyday..."

"Yes. I am a State Alchemist, and have completed sixteen weeks at BEOC, which is why I am a Major despite how I look." Great. He's making a scene. Not only is he holding up the food line, but now some of the folks nearby are starting to look…

"Well, Ma'am, that's all well and good," the cook started, "But ain'tcha a little young for coffee?"

…

I had to bite my lip to keep myself from shrieking. Hakuro was arrogant as any pencil pushing general you'd expect. But at least he could put up the illusion that he was competent enough to hold his rank. This cook had such sincere and blunt ignorance that you could use it to bludgeon someone to death.

"Your concern for my well being is duly noted," I managed to say. It defused the mounting annoyance somewhat. "However, I know my body well enough to say that I can take a little coffee. So. How much?"

"Hundred cenz, Ma'am," he said as he turned to reach for a tin mug and the ladle in the large multi-gallon pot where they kept the grounds steeping. "We don't have milk or sugar for it either."

"That's fine," I brushed a hand aside while another reached into my pocket for the indicated loose change. "I prefer mine black anyway."

"Woowee," the cook shook his head as he ladled the coffee into the cup and set it down on my tray. "Sounds like you're growing up mighty fast, Ma'am. Better watch out. Adulthood's a real bitch, if you could pardon my Aerugan."

"Trust me on this, I think I can handle adulthood pretty well." I set the change down on the tray, which he then picked up, completing our transaction. I picked up the tray and headed back to my room.

The interesting thing about cenz, is that based on the prices, its buying power seems to be just about the same as your modern Japanese Yen. In what is clearly an early 20th century European nation.

 _VISITING OFFICER'S QUARTERS 403_

I blew the steam away as I took my first sip of this coffee. The cup touched my lips, and a teaspoonful went in…

I had to hold myself back from spitting it out. This is the worst coffee I have _ever_ had, even when you count that cheap instant stuff that comes in sachets.

It seems that in this particularly dreary environment that is Briggs, not only is it full of beggars who can't be choosers… the beggars have to _pay_ for what is possibly the worst coffee in two worlds.

I sighed and set the cup down to one side of the desk, then unloaded the documents in my backpack onto the other side, spreading them out in a way that I could conveniently see the big picture that I've been assembling over the past year.

Dublith: Edward cites the brothers' reason for being here as a return to their Teacher, who lives at a butcher shop, in search of answers for a previous puzzle concerning a place he called "Atelier".

The search proved somewhat fruitful. While none of the butchers acknowledged being alchemists, the last one, the Curtises, appeared to have a particular disdain for me, and were not at all fazed by the fact that someone my age held a State Certification. "Looks like the Dogs are getting as young as pups these days", Mrs. Curtis said, and denied knowing anything about "Atelier", while claiming to be just a housewife.

I decided not to pursue that course, as it would require me to reveal that I had Edward's notes. She probably would've beaten me to within an inch of my life in such a case.

The next entry spoke of a violent bar encounter with a particularly die-hard man known as "George". The fight was interrupted by Southern Command's intervention as they raided the bar for terrorists.

I rang them up and they explained that the data on this particular 1914 raid had been expunged by the Southern Commander… who was later arrested for involvement in the Central Conspiracy. So it looks like the Elrics might have gotten caught up with that madness, and perhaps even contributed to taking it down… just like a Shounen manga. Heh.

Rush Valley: Here, aside from assisting in the delivery of a baby, Edward encounters one Ling Yao from Xing. A slippery tourist who not only had a voracious appetite and would end up making you pay for it by feigning ignorance of English, but also had what sounds like ninja bodyguards.

Central: Where do I start… it's a jumble. Edward is distraught to find out that his friend, one Lt. Colonel Hughes, has been murdered… likely in relation to "Atelier", he writes. Someone high up had warned them about it, apparently…

This takes an abrupt turn to the legendary ruins of Xerxes - now a famous tourist attraction - via his hometown of Resembool. Now Xerxes is a major point of interest with Edward… which only makes sense. Much of his notes are dedicated to hiding alchemic coded symbols within the narrative.

I'm not even sure if "Captive Sun" is in reference to the literal hostage situation he was almost caught in, or a metaphorical where someone is plotting to bring God down a peg. My own trip to Xerxes didn't help. Armstrong Industries had established a tourist resort there. They refurbished the Xerxian palace, and in the process, some idiot accidentally spread paint thinner all over what they had intended to be the centerpiece: the throne room, which apparently once held a mural of potential alchemic significance…

Edward then goes home to Resembool and gets into a spat with his long lost father, who had come to visit his late mother's grave after being gone for so many years. Oh. Typical… Somehow, this leads to an important revelation that he believes can help cure some kind of… illness that Alphonse has been stricken with for the longest time.

Oh, but Alphonse himself was rather secretive about it. So was May. They mostly stuck to the journal entries details when prodded. But it involved an intense numbness, if the details were anything to go by. I shuddered at how he could have survived with such sensory deprivation back then…

Ultimately, this would all lead to a confrontation with an "Old Bastard" of some sort, and a northerly search for a Xingese Alkahestrist girl with a "vicious cat"... which brings us here to Briggs.

It's pretty clear of course, that she turned out to be none other than May Chang.

The Old Bastard seemed to have been extremely powerful, politically, for sure… but I can't shake the feeling that his power also extended to a literal sense. Perhaps even an alchemic one…

If I've seen enough stories like this, I'd say this man was the puppeteer pulling the strings behind the Central Conspiracy. And he executed these schemes with certain individuals who he described as apparently having particular sets of skills: "Gary", who was a simple-minded brute but was voraciously effective at removing evidence.

"George", who… I can't tell if this was the George from Dublith, or someone similar who held Ling hostage or something… in either case, he was very similar to the first George, so let's just say it's the same one. Or his twin brother. Because with how manga-like this is getting, I wouldn't be surprised if they really were twins.

"Elvis", a master of disguise who was also particularly brutal in hand to hand combat.

"Laura", a ruthless sharpshooter who almost killed Alphonse had General Mustang not intervened... It's amazing how many of those there are around here. Though I shouldn't be surprised, given Amestris' brutal history.

"Walter". Apparently the Old Bastard's front man. A higher-up in the military who possessed frightening insight and close quarters skills. Edward was careful not to actually name him, suspiciously enough…

And lastly, "Seth", bigger, slower, and even dumber than "Gary". So much in fact that he accidentally found his way into Briggs… by getting lost? And so hard to kill that a tank had to come into play.

Were these individuals alchemists? No, how could idiots like Gary and Seth become alchemists? But were they really just humans with incredible talents? No, that can't be right. How does "so hard to kill even a tank isn't enough" count as a talent? Oh sure maybe he could be saying Seth was really good at dodging bullets… but he was described as slow, lumbering…

Perhaps they were top secret chimera operatives developed by the military under the Old Bastard's stringy machinations. Yeah, that makes the most sense. I've heard the rumours of chimeric super soldier programs before. Even Creta makes use of chimeras that are essentially werewolves, if some reports are to be believed.

But surely, Edward and Alphonse didn't start out their journey specifically to uncover some grand conspiracy and undo it, right?

No, their motives were personal. After starting over from the beginning, it was clear that he wanted to cure Alphonse of this terrible illness, no matter the cost. A truly brotherly love, it seems…

He also just happened to be a good guy who fixed problems wherever he went, whether by choice or circumstance. By no means perfect. Sometimes, Alphonse would joke about his brother's temper, for example. But a good guy nonetheless.

Okay, so that's the problem down. But what about the solution? What did Edward seek that could cure his brother's disease? Actually I might be thinking of this backwards… what kind of sickness could be so terrible that it takes a long journey of alchemic discovery to find a super solution to cure it?

Perhaps the same plague that killed their mother? But no, we have documentation of what the plague was like. They died fast. Edward doesn't mention anything about transmuting medicines either.

This working hypothesis isn't working out so well. All this time, I've failed to definitively separate the narrative from the code. What little tidbits I feel confident enough to declare to be 'pure code', I fail to decode. Every night I feel like I might happen on a breakthrough, but the more I go over it, the blurrier the lines get.

Much as I hate to admit it, it's starting to look as though I won't be able to crack these notes by myself.

I took another sip of that disgusting slop of 'coffee', long gone cold by now due to the inordinate amount of time I spent going over these journals and my plan.

So what now? Between Alphonse's mystery disease, and their historical pursuit of the equally mysterious "Cure"... which they evidently managed to get, otherwise Alphonse wouldn't be able to honestly compliment May every time she cooked something delicious… And he of course could definitely taste it, because his descriptions sounded on point. So he wasn't lying or anything…

Oh, but Alphonse and May are only uncooperative because they _know_ I have a motive for asking them these questions. What if… what if I went to interview the people in these journal entries? At least… the ones who're still alive. Yeah, that sounds like an obvious plan. And the only reason I hadn't thought about it until now was…

Sigh.

Pride.

Being X must be laughing at me right now. Saying nothing so I'd go on a wild goose chase that I couldn't possibly solve on my own, hoping I'd waste my whole life trying to crack Edward Elric's code all by myself.

But we'll see who'll be laughing soon enough. The blinders are gone, and I can see clearly now.

I spent ten years in _human resources_. I should be going out there and _talking_ to these people instead of trying to guess what it's all about from the personal observations of someone who's out of reach.

… besides, if Alphonse himself couldn't crack these notes - and the brothers were extremely close if this was anything to go by - then who am I to even try decoding them?

That's it, then. It's settled.

I picked up all my documents and packed them back into the backpack. It's time to start over, but fortunately, it's only been eight months. I've got a whole lifetime to figure this out! I mean, Edward's notes is more of a personal goal than a career objective, but I've proven that I can balance work with life. So there's no rush. All things considered, I'm doing a pretty good job setting myself up for a lucrative post-military career, after all. For now, all that's left to do here is take the rest of the day off, and then get my inspection done tomorrow.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Major Degurechaff," Lieutenant Hesnschel called out from the other side, "Major Falman wants to know if you'll be performing that inspection today or tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow morning will be fine, after you've completed the cleanup," I replied, putting the personal documents away while I pulled out more work-related things, such as the inspection material and whatnot.

"Understood, Ma'am. Oh, and by the way, the Major sent someone over to see you. You might wanna let em in, and I'll see myself out."

"Sure, go ahead, Lieutenant." Huh? Who could Falman possibly be sending my way?

"Ma'am." Henschel's voice on the other side acknowledged with a pause, and after a few moments, the sound of his boots echoed down the hall until he was gone.

I stood up and slid the chair back under the desk and opened the door. What greeted my face was a rather impressive bust clad in snow-white field uniform. I tilted my head back to see the face of the owner of said bust.

She had long brown hair, bright blue eyes, and despite the presence of a bandaged bruise on one side of her face, a smile that made you think that she didn't have a care in the world. "POW-DF, Former White Army Private Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakova, is now being transferred to your custody, Major Alchemist." She saluted.

I returned the salute. "Major Tanya Degurechaff, Sylphid Alchemist, is accepting the POW-DF custody transfer. I will take responsibility for your safety and wellbeing until you can be brought to an appropriate State Military training facility and reprocessed for service in the Amestrian State Military."

… well, I didn't expect this to happen so quickly, but good for me, it appears Briggs is exceptionally skilled at interrogating people. Means I can go grab her as soon as tomorrow, and be done with this place after typing out my inspection report.

"Come on in, Private Serebryakova," I stepped aside and presented my humble quarters… which were probably better than the prison cells, but not by much. "We've got a lot to talk about."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Major Degurechaff." Serebryakova beamed as she took my offer and showed herself inside.

And with that, we would spend the rest of the afternoon getting to know each other a little better…

~O~O~O~

 _GORINICH CRASH SITE, BRIGGS VALLEY, 8 APRIL, 1918_

Huskisson yawned as he shoved his mittened hands into his coat pockets. The sky was clear and blue when they arrived at the Fort this morning, but now the clouds were rolling in from the north, which bode for poor weather sometime before sunset. The train was comfortable enough, at least. With the North City-Briggs Line having completed its maintenance repairs just literally yesterday, he had quietly feared that the team would have to take a half-track and plough through the snow to get here.

Fortunately, the repairs were completed just in time for them to continue riding all the way to the end. After being accosted by the sentries and receiving a highly invasive pat-down - in case they were Drachman Spies - the team was finally allowed through, and presented their papers from Central Command.

The Executive Officer, Major Falman, then briefed them on the situation, and the details on their purpose for being here. A few days earlier, the Drachmans deployed a heavily militarized airship the likes of which had never been seen before. After a daring boarding raid, a State Alchemist named Tanya Degurechaff planted a jury-rigged 5-ton bomb next to the power plant, destroying most of the vessel.

And of course, as one might expect, their job was to go over the wreckage and see if they couldn't reverse engineer it somehow.

But that wasn't why Huskisson was here. Well, it was, but technically, he wasn't part of the initial group contacted. It wasn't until several of the troops inspecting this particular big, bulky section of the wreckage collapsed that he was called in.

Why?

Because the attending doctor found signs of radiation poisoning.

That was where Huskisson came in. After all, he _was_ Amestris' leading authority on a fascinating new field of physics, a talented young scientist whose studies on radioactivity led to a number of seminal papers. One particular piece he published four years ago involved the development of a hypothetical superweapon, an ultra high-yield bomb, powered by the "Ultimate Energy" released from splitting the atom of the radioactive element uranium.

This got Bradley's attention, and he was interviewed by some eggheads from Central.

Oh, the bomb wasn't around yet, but he was getting rather close.

The problem was that his personal funds were starting to run low, and the new Führer seemed to be more on the path to peace. Alas. But perhaps, with this new potential arms race, his ideas might find favour with the new administration?

Well this machine clearly wasn't an unexploded bomb… in fact it was too big, too complex, to be a bomb. So what else might it have been?

The answer was obvious, really. It was some kind of power plant. Based on the description of the ship, it was extremely heavily armoured such that it couldn't have been kept aloft merely by light air. It made use of some sort of exotic propulsion system to supplement this… and more likely than not, it was powered by this device.

After all, if you weren't going to use an atom splitting chain reaction for a bomb, then the next best use for it was as fuel.

Huskisson frowned. How dare the Drachmans invent a functioning uranium device before he did! His uranium bomb was supposed to be the toast of the town! Not a power plant built by some backward bloated nation that was still largely stuck in the previous century!

Oh, he was going to enjoy picking this thing apart and then building something even better!

The physicist cleared his throat and got the Major's attention. Falman, dressed in the most protective clothing available, as Huskisson requested, cautiously approached. "Yes, Doctor Huskisson?"

"Well, Major, upon initial inspection, this device appears to be some sort of power plant. But instead of coal or petroleum, my guess is that it utilizes a radioactive element as fuel. Which explains why your men acquired radiation poisoning after exposing themselves to it. I'm guessing it has some sort of leak, which must be sealed immediately."

Falman nodded and scribbled this down in his notebook. "We could bring it inside and set up a quarantine in one of our engineering bays. With the proper protective measures, and this leak sealed up, you should be able to study it all you want."

"Excellent!" Huskisson raised a finger as if to emphasize his excitement. "Please do so with due haste, Major. We wouldn't want any of its contents to seep out into the ground."

"Understood, Doctor." Falman nodded and rejoined his escort to issue orders.

Huskisson, in the meantime, made his way over to another member of the team, who was busy dismantling what appeared to be an overgrown nozzle with a fan of some sort built into it. "Found anything of interest on your end?"

"Oh yes, this craftsmanship is simply delightful!" The scientist laughed, the messy mass of long dark hair wiggling on his back. "An envious piece of work, if I do say so myself."

"I'm guessing it feels like something you've only dreamed about and wished you could have been the first to develop?" That was the thing with inventors such as themselves. In this day and age of innovation, everybody seemed to want to have some revolutionary patent to their name.

"Certainly, without a doubt, Doctor Huskisson," the scientist grabbed a crowbar and began to pry the nozzle open. "But! Once we take it apart and see what makes it tick, making our own variation will be a cinch!"

Huskisson shrugged. "I suppose there's that. Although my idea was more about developing a weapon than a power plant…" A piece of rubble, unhinged by the messy-haired scientist, flew in his direction, forcing him to duck. "Uhh… you realize we can just dismantle it inside one of the Fort's engineering bays, right?"

Another part flew past.

"Right?"

And another. The engine was quickly falling apart.

"Doctor Schugel!"

The scientist's head whipped around at the mention of his name, adjusting his monocle as he did so. "Yes? Doctor Huskisson?"

"I said, we should have it taken inside first, so that we can dismantle it in an engineering bay, where the machinery is protected from the elements, and you have zero risk of losing any parts."

Schugel rubbed his chin in thought. "Yes, actually, I think you might have a point there, Doctor!"

"Just being commonsensical."

"Very well!" Schugel bounded over the snow, leaping in excitement in the direction of the Major and his men, to request that they bring his discovery into the fort.

Huskisson merely shook his head. That man seemed to be truly mad. And it only made sense: there was a very thin line between genius and madness.

* * *

 **AN:** I'm assuming you've figured out the first part of the chapter title already. Who it refers to and such. I'm hoping the second part also became clear enough, considering how big a deal Tanya makes it out to be... yes. I'm talking about the Briggs coffee. Terrible stuff. Everything about it. But, that's just how hard life is in Briggs!

Also, is it just me, or is Briggs obsessed with Drachman spies? I mean, I can't blame them, that's probably their number one threat. But I swear, I think I hear someone refer to Drachman spies at least once an episode during the Briggs arc.

Those of you familiar with the 2003 series might have seen the movie Conqueror of Shamballa. Those of you who haven't, simply put, Huskisson is a guy who shows up in the first scene, who invented an atomic bomb to sell to Central. Now obviously we're going by the Mangahood continuity here, so whatever happened in the movie doesn't count (a number of folks also say the 03 continuity in general doesn't count, but this isn't the place for that). Doesn't mean that I can't recycle the character concept where it suits me, though.

I must admit that I have sympathies for 03. I don't think it's as horrible as others make it out to be, and enjoy both series for what they are. Not to mention, I'm very grateful that it introduced me to FMA. So those of you who've seen it, well... yeah. There you go.

Hopefully we can get some more stuff done next chapter!


End file.
